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#■ - •
EDUCATION OF A BIBLIOPHILE
Edwin H. Carpenter
Interviewed by Ruth Axe
Completed under the auspices
Oral History Program
University of California
Copyright @ 1977
The Regents of the University of California
This manuscript is hereby made available for research
purposes only. All literary rights in the manuscript,
including the right to publication, are reserved to the
University Library of the University of California at
Los Angeles. No part of the manuscript may be quoted
for publication without the written permission of the
University Librarian of the University of California
at Los Angeles.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
% Introduction vi
Biographical Sketch xiv
Interview History xvi
SESSION: I (October 22, 1971) 1
Purchase of Father Junipero Serra document — Ded-
ication to Haydee Noya--Zamorano Club meetings
and membership--Thomas W. Temple II and his
work with mission archives — Father Jose Thompson
and the De la Guerra papers--Remodeling of San
Juan Capistrano Mission--Holdings and collections
of the Huntington Library — History of the Hunting-
ton — Classification of materials--Experiences in
Germany, 1945--Work in historical section of
Seventh Army — William B. Goddard — Visit to Neu-
schwanstein--Linderhof--Europe at the close of
World War II--European libraries and bookstores--
SESSION: II, (November 7, 1971) 67
Meeting the Guillens — The Bou Helals — Rabat —
collection activities in Morocco — Prosper
Ricard--Louis Endres — Moroccan bindings--The
Guillens in Paris — Postwar army life--Infor-
mation and Education programs — The point system —
Attending the University of Paris — Courses
taken — The Institut d'Ethnologie and Yvonne
Oddon--Harper Kelley — Living arrangements —
Meeting members of the Resistance — Collection
of early Resistance memoirs--Abuses of I and
E — Award of military decoration — Return to the
U.S. — First work at the Huntington Library —
Resumption of academic career under Joseph B.
Lockey at UCLA--Lockey ' s seminars--Recruitment to
historical section of Third Army.
SESSION: III, (February 6, 1972) 132
Lockey 's seminars--Description of a typical ses-
sion--Research assistantship in the Department
of History — Work under John Caughey — Decision
to attend library school — First employment as
SESSION: IV (April 16, 1972) 159
Introduction to book collecting--Early collecting
activities--Interest in bibliographers of Amer-
icana — "Americana-ana" — Criteria for collecting —
Principal collections--Wartime collecting-- "Poz-
zuolana" — Handpress and fine printing — Pilgrim
presses--Indian illustrators--Local history,
genealogy, and cemeteries--Legacy from Gerald
McDonald--Work at New York Public Library research-
ing Noah Webster — Colleagues at NYPL — Collection
of eighteenth-century Mexican engravings.
SESSION: V (May 28, 1972) 216
Founding of the UCLA Anthropological Society —
Status of anthropology at UCLA in 1937 — First
meetings of the society — Early membership — First
prog rams --First of f icers--Dinners--Communications
within the society--Mounting the Pueblo Indian
Edwin H. Carpenter was born on August 21, 1915, in
Burlington, Iowa, but he is really a Californian. In the
late 1930s, when it was still something of a distinction to
be a native of California, his mother told me that she
believed her son would have chosen to be born in California
but that she, a very staunch Bostonian, thought the proper
natal place for a person with a sense of history was
Mr. and Mrs. Carpenter headed east from California,
and the son was born in the hometown of his father. In
any case, the family returned in 1917 to Southern California,
where Edwin Junior was reared and educated, in Sierra Madre
and Los Angeles: Virgil Junior High School, Hollywood High
School, Los Angeles Junior College, UCLA (BA with honors
in two departments, history and English, with election to
Phi Beta Kappa, 1937; MA in history, 1939; PhD in history,
1949), and USC (MSLS, 1950).
It was at UCLA that we met, in either 1936 or 1937.
I had attended Venice High School and Santa Monica Junior
College, and I became acquainted with Ed soon after I entered
UCLA in 1935 as a history major. We were in at least one
class together--probably in several, but I particularly
remember the upper division course in Latin-American
history taught by Joseph B. Lockey. Believe it or not, it
was almost universal practice to seat students alphabetically
in those days. I was in the row behind and a seat or two
to the left of Carpenter. Also, it happened that his cousin
and a friend of mine, both of whom I knew at Venice High
School as well as UCLA, were married about that time. Ed
and I attended the wedding reception in the bride's
sorority house on Hilgard Avenue. So we have been close
friends for over forty years--f ellow undergraduates until
1937 (BA degrees at the same commencement and perhaps
inducted into Phi Beta Kappa together, although I do not
remember who was at that meeting other than Gordon Watkins
and Robert Gordon Sproul), graduate students in the history
department from then until World War II sent us in different
directions, and librarian colleagues since that time.
He completed his MA in 1939; mine was awarded in the
winter of 1940. My PhD was completed before I went into the
army; and his, as he relates in these interviews, was
conferred in 1949 following his service in the army of the
United States (1941-1946) in the North African,
Mediterranean, and European Theaters. He rose to the
exalted rank of master sergeant. I never left the States —
the so-called American Theater, which was much safer--and
never made it beyond staff sergeant. He was in the infantry,
and I was in the medics. Perhaps if he had become Dr.
Carpenter before he joined the army, he too would have been
assigned to the Medical Department; but if that had happened,
these oral history interviews would have been quite
different, and probably less interesting, because he has
much to say about his GI adventures in Germany, Morocco,
Italy, and France.
The interviews here recorded constitute a fascinating
document. It opens with the story of his acquiring a Serra
manuscript which he purchased to present to the Huntington
Library (Session I, pp. 1-66) and includes comments about his
personal collections (Session IV, pp. 159-215) . The second
recording session (pp. 67-131) deals primarily with his
overseas adventures while in the army. Two important facets
of the history of UCLA are documented, in the period when
the university was training its first generation of PhD
graduate students: the exciting history department seminars,
specifically that of Professor Joseph B. Lockey (Session III,
pp. 132-158); and the founding (by Edwin H. Carpenter, Jr.)
and early days (1936-1941) of the UCLA Anthropological
Society (Session V, pp. 216-231). The whole story is told
in a relaxed and absorbing manner, not neatly compart-
mentalized by recording sessions I through V, nor is it
told in strict chronological order, and there are asides
as well as references to the same subject in different
sessions. The interviews give us an important historical
record as well as a personal acquaintance with a truly
remarkable person--a scholar, an observer of his times, a
low-key bon vivant , a special kind of librarian, a
collector (bibliomaniac?), and a bibliographer. Also, he
is a third-generation diarist, recording each day up to
this moment, a family and personal chronicle which was
begun by his grandfather and continued by his father.
As mentioned earlier, I have known Ed Carpenter over
the years covered in this oral history interview series.
It was a special pleasure for me to read it because I knew
or know all of the persons he mentions and all of the
places, too, except for those in his war years when our
paths diverged. It is surprising, though, how frequently
we have been associated. I was a member of that stimulating
Lockey seminar, where I also met Henry R. Wagner and through
whom both Ed and I were introduced to Ruth Axe, Wagner's
devoted research assistant, who conducted these interviews
for the UCLA Oral History Program. Ed does not mention the
occasional special excursions of that seminar group. From
time to time we dined out together and often assembled in
Dr. Lockey ' s home — every room lined from floor to ceiling
with filled bookcases--f or refreshments and reading aloud
from Don Quixote or some other of Lockey ' s favorite books.
(One of my most treasured possessions is the copy of Don
Quixote from which we read, delivered to me shortly after
Lockey's death with this inscription: "Dear Andy:
I want you to have this book as a memento of the lighter
moments of the Seminar, J.B. Lockey.") I think the
"lighter moments" which Lockey thoroughly enjoyed were
designed to offset the intensity and seriousness of the
seminar work, and perhaps to keep us friends rather than
competitors. Lockey was also an enthusiastic promoter of
the Historical Society of Southern California and recruited
most of us into membership. For a time he was the president,
handling the meetings with his usual dignity, propriety,
and infectious (rather sly) good humor and wit. There
were field trips, too. I remember one particularly, a
visit to the home of the aging Cave Couts near San Luis
Rey, where we were joined by Dr. Wagner in his limousine,
complete with chauffeur.
I also attended some of the meetings of the Anthropological
Society (Session V, pp. 216-231), and perhaps I was a member
for a short time. I am not sure of that, but I did take
that first course in anthropology at UCLA, taught by Ralph
Deals. After the war and a year of teaching at The Johns
Hopkins, I was recruited into librarianship by Lawrence
Clark Powell, as was Ed Carpenter (p. 154). We both had
an interest in rare books and manuscripts. I gradij^ed,
GI Bill benefits, from Berkeley's library school in 1948,
and my first library job after that was as the second staff
member of the UCLA Library's Department of Special Collections,
started by Larry Powell and Neal Harlow, the first head of
the department. I was working there while Ed completed
his dissertation, attended the library school at USC,
and worked Saturdays at the Clark (p. 156). He joined us
in Special Collections as the first university archivist at
UCLA (p. 155), but he left abruptly after less than a year.
He doesn't mention the reason. I am sure it was due to the
loyalty oath controversy and the outrageous firing of
Professor John W. Caughey, who was the chairman of Carpenter's
doctoral committee (p. 152). One thing about Ed is that
when he resigns, he stays resigned. I could never persuade
him to return to the university. Years later he resigned,
for very good reason, from the Rounce and Coffin Club. To
this day we have been unable to persuade him to return to
membership. He has also been steadfast in eschewing
supervisory or management responsibility. When I urged
him to accept the title of assistant department head, he
declined, saying, "Administration is like alcoholism; the
only was to be safe is never to take the first drink." So
far as I know, he has never held a supervisory post.
While Ed was at the New York Public Library (1953-1957),
working on the Noah Webster bibliography, I also saw him
two or three times. The first was when I returned (by ship
in those days) from my first trip to Europe, with my train
ticket but otherwise flat broke. I borrowed twenty-five
dollars from him to get back to California, While I was
the university librarian at the University of North Carolina
(1954-1957), Ed in New York and I in Chapel Hill or
Washington spent some time running down Bancroft imprints
and variants for Ruth Axe, who was helping Henry R. Wagner
on what turned out to be his last scholarly work, a
comprehensive bibliography of Bancroft publications. Ed
also found a Noah Webster-related excuse to visit Mary and
me in Chapel Hill (p. 202).
Not mentioned in these interviews is the brief period
when Ed was an indexer for the California Historical
Society in San Francisco. After I returned to California
from North Carolina to become college librarian at
Occidental College, I visited him at the Historical
Society headquarters. He seemed to be enjoying his work
there, but it was inevitable he should return to the
Huntington, which is really his home base as UCLA is mine.
Even while he was in New York working on the Noah Webster
bibliography, he was on leave (for the first couple of years,
at least) from the Huntington.
Except for his first article to appear in print.
Carpenter says nothing about his publications, and that one
he refers to only because it was known in an unlikely place
in the middle of World War II (p. 128) , He is a meticulous
scholar, and he publishes only occasionally, on subjects
that interest or amuse him and on a range of topics from
Noah Webster to early cemeteries of Los Angeles. He is
often an editor rather than an author (e.g., for Dawson's
Book Shop publications, among them the Baja California
Travels Series) but always a scholar. His many articles
in bibliographical and historical periodicals are polished
gems, as were those of his mentor Joseph B. Lockey. I
hope some day a student of mine will compile a Carpenter
To assist the reader of this oral history document--
whether a reader for the pleasure of it, as was the point in
my case, or as a student using it in connection with
research--! am asking the editor to append to this wordy
introduction a succinct Carpenter resume.
Andrew H. Horn
Los Angeles, California
December 25, 1976
Born August 21, 1915, Burlington, Iowa: only child of
Edwin H. and Cora (Francis) Carpenter. Moved to California
in 1917. Until 1941 lived in Calexico, Sierra Madre, Los
Angeles; after 1946 in Los Angeles, Pasadena, Alhambra,
and South Pasadena.
EDUCATION: Grammar school. Sierra Madre and Los Angeles;
Virgil Junior High, Los Angeles 1926-1929; Hollywood High,
1929-1932; Los Angeles Junior College, 1932-1934. University
of California, Los Angeles: BA in English and history,
with honors in both departments and election to Phi Beta
Kappa, 1937; MA in history, 1939; PhD in history, 1949.
University of Southern California: MSLS , 1950.
MILITARY SERVICE: U.S. Army, 1941-1946; highest rank, master
sergeant; North African, Mediterranean, and European
EMPLOYMENT: Los Angeles Public Library (page), 1935-1936.
Huntington Library (rare-book-reading-room attendant) ,
1946-1947. UCLA Library (university archivist), 1950.
Huntington Library (publications secretary), 1950-1953.
New York Public Library (bibliographical editor), 1953-1957.
California Historical Society (indexer) , 1957-1960.
Huntington Library (bibliographer), 1960-1973; (lecturer),
MEMBERSHIPS: Cultural Heritage Commission, City of South
Pasadena, 1972-1974. Bibliographical Society of America.
Clements Library Associates. Friends of the Bancroft
Library. Friends of the Huntington Library. Historical
Society of Southern California and several local historical
societies (vice-president of Eagle Rock Valley Historical
Society; board member of Pasadena and San Marino historical
societies). Library Patrons of Occidental College. Morgan
Library Fellows. Roxburghe Club of San Francisco. Society
for Historical Archaeology. Westerners, Los Angeles Corral.
PRINCIPAL PUBLICATIONS: Mark Twain: An Exhibition . . .
(San Marino: Huntington Library, 1947). Some Libraries
We Have Not Visited (Pasadena: Castle Press, 1947).
Editor, Bibliography of the Writings of Noah Webster (New
York: New York Public Library, 1958). Editor, Natural
History of the Typestickers of Los Angeles . . . , from
the letters of William H. Cheney (Los Angeles: Rounce &
Coffin Club, 1960) . Printers and Publishers in Southern
California, 1850-1876 (Glendale: La Siesta Press, 1964).
Early Cemeteries of the City of Los Angeles (Los Angeles;
Dawson's Book Shop, 1973). Editor, Baja California
Travels Series and other works for Dawson's Book Shop.
Articles in bibliographical and historical periodicals.
INTERVIEWER: Ruth Axe, author and former secretary
to the late Henry R. Wagner. BA, German, UCLA.
MA, German, University of Southern California.
TIME AND SETTING OF INTERVIEW:
Place : The home of Mr. and Mrs. H.R. Axe, 90 9
S. Hudson Avenue, Los Angeles.
Dates : October 22, November 11, 1971; February 6,
April 16, May 28, 1972.
Time of day , length of sessions , and total number
of recording hours : Interviews were conducted in
the evenings, with each session lasting approxi-
mately two hours. A total of seven and one-half
hours was recorded.
Persons present during interviews : Carpenter, Mr.
and Mrs. H.R. Axe.
CONDUCT OF THE INTERVIEW:
The interviewer began by asking Mr. Carpenter to
describe his purchase of a Serra manuscript that
he presented to the Huntington Library. Mr.
Carpenter then discussed local collectors and
collections, including the Zamorano Club. The
narrative continues with a discussion of the
Huntington and its collections, Mr. Carpenter's
war experiences and early collecting, and his
doctorate work at UCLA . Subsequently, he
describes seminars he attended at UCLA, then de-
tails his own collections and collecting methods.
The interview concludes with a discussion on the
founding of the Anthropological Society at UCLA.
Editing was done by Helen Lynda Kimmel, assistant
editor, UCLA Oral History Program. The verbatim
transcript of the interview was checked against
the original tape recordings and edited for
punctuation, paragraphing, correct spelling, and
verification of proper and place names. Words and
names inserted by the editor have been bracketed.
The final manuscript remains in the same chrono-
logical order as the taped material. The manu-
script has been arranged by sessions rather than
tapes because the individual sessions were not
recorded sequentially onto the tapes.
Mr. Carpenter reviewed and approved the edited
transcript of the interview. He made minor
corrections, additions, and deletions; he also
supplied spellings of names that had not been
Betty Bose, graduate student, UCLA School of
Library and Information Science, prepared the
index. The introduction was written by Andrew
H. Horn, former dean of the UCLA School of Library
and Information Science. Joel Gardner, editor.
Oral History Program, reviewed the manuscript
before it was typed in final form.
The original tape recordings and edited transcript
of the interview are in the University Archives
and are available under the regulations governing
the use of permanent noncurrent records of the
Records relating to the interview are located in the
office of the UCLA Oral History Program.
COMMENTS AND ADDENDUM
[Edwin H. Carpenter, after reviewing his bound
oral history volume, suggested that the following
comments and addendum be incorporated as part
of the manuscript to correct statements and to
include an anecdote not originally related. The
changes were requested in a letter dated July 20,
1978, to Director Bernard Galm of the UCLA Oral
p. ix, lines 4-6. Dr. Horn's remark about a third-
generation diarist is somewhat exaggerated. My
grandfather kept diaries only on trips, as far as I
know, and my father discontinued his diary many
years before his death — before I started mine, so
there is not an overlapping series.
p. 187, lines 7-8. My memory played me false here; I do
have a copy of The Curse in the Colophon .
p. 212, lines 7-8. Another slip of memory. I do not find
the sixteenth-century Mexican broadsides I thought I
One of the reasons I agreed to this interview is that
I consider that I am responsible for a university regulation
— and in reading the transcript I find that I failed to
mention the matter.
When I entered UCLA as a junior I started out as an
English major. In my junior year I took some history courses
as electives, and by the time I was into what was supposed to
be my senior year I realized that I was more interested in
history than English; within the English department the
courses which I enjoyed most and did best in were historical
in their approach. I did not like to jettison the English I
had taken, so I took a fifth year and completed that major
and one in history too, graduating with two majors.
The English department then had a comprehensive exami-
nation as a requisite for completing an English major. I
took it, and with no surprise to myself scored a C.
From the point of view of a real grasp of the discipline,
I was a good C student. I had averaged much better grades
than that, however, perhaps by being prompt and attentive,
typing my papers neatly, and so on. In fact, I had a
good enough grade-point average to make Phi Beta Kappa.
At the time of my graduation (1937) it was automatic
that Phi Beta Kappas were graduated with honors , so in
the printed commencement program I appeared with honors
in English, which understandably infuriated the chairman
of the department (Alfred Longueil, as I recall). Soon
a regulation was established that no student would graduate
with honors without the approval of the department concerned,
OCTOBER 22, 1971
AXE: Dr. Edwin H. Carpenter is bibliographer of western
history at the Henry E. Huntington Library. The tape was
made, at his request, as a conversation rather than an
interview. It docuraents primarily his gift of a signi-
ficant manuscript to the library.
First of all you said you would tell about your
giving this [Father Junipero] Serra manuscript. Do you
want to tell that now? That really would be most interes-
CARPENTER: Fine. Yes, surely, that would be grand. I'd
be very glad to put it in sort of organized shape and
get it down. You telephoned me on the night of the sixth
of October, a Wednesday night, and in the course of the
conversation you said that you had been at Bennett and
Marshall and had seen a new catalog. You'd asked me if
I had seen it. [It was] a catalog of about thirty items,
and you were under the impression that Mr. Bennett was
taking [the material] to England with him to the Inter-
national Book Fair. As it turns out, I don't think he
actually took the items himself, but the catalog must
have been aimed at that fair in England, because it's
priced in pounds as well as in dollars. At the time you
talked with me, I hadn't seen that catalog, but you told
me there were many very good things in it, including a
Father Serra document.
I received my copy of the catalog the next day.
That mailing list uses the Huntington Library address,
so I got it at the library and looked at it right then.
The Serra document was number one in the catalog, the
first entry. It was headed by a little boxed statement that
the proceeds from the sale of this item were to be given to
the Santa Barbara Mission archive. Father [Maynard] Geiger's
project at Santa Barbara. It had quite a description of
the document, which is quite a desirable Serra document.
It's a leaf out of one of the record books, the baptismal
book at San Luis Obispo. It has entries by three or four
different padres, and one entry is by Father Serra, covering
three baptisms that he performed. I think it's about four-
teen lines of text in his handwriting and then a very nice
signature. It's a very attractive piece, I think, and quite
suitable for display.
Well, at the time that the state's bicentennial was
celebrated in 1969, we had at the Huntington Library, and
many other places, exhibits and things to go with this
bicentennial. In preparing our bicentennial exhibit, we
were embarrassed to find that we didn't have anything, any
example of Father Serra 's handwriting.
AXE: When you say "we," you mean the Huntington.
CARPENTER: The Huntington, yes. I can't remember whether
we borrowed one in time to use in that exhibit, but since
1969 we have had in the library a Serra document on loan
from the Santa Barbara Mission archives. We made a point
of borrowing something, even though we don't ordinarily
borrow; I think we felt it desirable to have something on
hand. Father Geiger had lent us a document, but of course
it was not ours .
So I'd been aware for a couple of years of the desir-
ability of our having a nice Serra document — or any Serra
document. As soon as I had read the catalog, I drew that
item to the attention of Virginia Rust, who is the chief
cataloger of the Vx^estern T^ericana and Californiana in the
manuscript department at the Huntington Library and the
one most concerned with acquiring and handling this sort
of material. She agreed with me that the description made
it sound as if it were an attractive piece and that it
would be very nice to have. Incidentally, the price was
$1,000, which I don't believe is out of line for a good
Serra document these days. But of course, it is a sizable
amount to put out of the budget, even of a place like the
Huntington Library, so that she would, of course, give it
some thought. She took it to the manuscript curator, her
boss, Miss Jean Preston, and, I believe, recommended it
to Miss Preston. Miss Preston also felt that it would be
a nice thing to have .
I didn't know this until later, but Miss Preston went
to the librarian, Mr. [Robert 0.] Dougan, about it and
recommended that we acquire it. He felt that it wouldn't
be feasible to do so, that we could not justify it in our
current budget, on the basis that it had no real research
value. Except for the names of a few baptized Indians,
it isn't really a research document. It's only a showpiece
as far as the Huntington Library is concerned. He didn't
feel, even though it was not a price out of line, that
he could justify that expenditure for what would just be an
exhibit piece and would not necessarily be exhibited very
often anyhow. As I say, I didn't find out until later that
Miss Preston had actually gone to Mr. Dougan and been dis-
couraged about it.
In showing it to Mrs. Rust, I had said that if it
didn't seem that the library could lay out the money, it
was not such a large figure but what it might be possible
to get some individual member of the Friends of the
Huntington Library to buy it and present it. She said yes;
she said maybe it was the kind of thing that might appeal
to Mrs. Keith Spalding. I don't know Mrs. Spalding and
what her current activities are since his [Mr. Spalding's]
death, but that name was mentioned.
Well, then, the rest of that day and the next day, I
was thinking it over. Occasionally it would come to my
mind. Somewhere along the line, it dawned on me: why
shouldn't I be the individual Friend and go ahead and
purchase it? I knew it would take the library some —
I don't mean it unkindly--fumbling. There would have to
be discussion of whether it was feasible and so forth,
and deciding whether or not to get it; whereas if an
individual makes a purchase, he doesn't have to wait on
any chain of command or anything like that--he can just go
ahead purchase something if he desires it. So it occurred
to me that I could save the library having to do any soul-
searching about whether or not to buy it by buying it
myself and presenting it to the library. As I say, when
I was thinking about that and coming to that decision, I
wasn't aware that Mr. Dougan had already said that he didn't
think that the library could purchase it.
I sort of came to the conclusion that I might do that
within the next day or two, on the seventh or eighth, on
that Thursday or Friday. In thinking over it over the
weekend, the only hesitancy I had was the matter of
provenance of the document. Obviously, since it's a leaf
out of one of the mission archives, one of the volumes
from the California missions, it has been removed from
its context somewhere along the line. And in past history
that has usually been a dishonest removal or a surreptitious
removal. This would mean that while no one might ever
challenge the title to the piece, nevertheless it would
have a cloud on it. This was offset by the paragraph at
the beginning of the entry in the catalog saying that the
proceeds would go to the Santa Barbara Mission archive,
[which] certainly suggested that Father Geiger at the
archive had knowledge of the fact that this was being
offered for sale.
It hardly seemed likely that Mr. Bennett would have
made such an entry if Father Geiger was not aware of what
was going on. As a matter of fact, it did occur to me to
wonder — although this is contrary to all archival practices —
if perhaps Father Geiger, cum permissu supe riorum , of course,
had actually provided this from the mission archive. An
archivist really shouldn't do that sort of thing, but it
occurred to me that possibly the church authorities had
decided that they needed money more than they needed
multiple autographs of Father Serra. Having all these
mission records, they must have a tremendous number of
Serra autographs. As far as research goes, a photocopy of
that leaf put in in place of the original is perfectly
good to cover the names and the facts that were recorded
on those pages. I hope sometime to find out. I haven't
yet found out whether this actually was put out into the
trade--if not officially, at least knowingly by the author-
ities there. But as I say, the possible slight cloud on
the title was about the only thing that caused me to have
any hesitancy in deciding to acquire it. *
However, there was one other thing. Have you ever
seen a performance of Gilbert and Sullivan's lolanthe?
She is a fairy who has taken mortal form. It gets very
involved, but there's a scene in that in which she is about
to make a decision in regard to marrying a mortal--which
will be fatal for her. As she is coming to the decision
to do so, there is, in the background, a chorus of her
sisters wailing over her making this unfortunate decision.
That weekend, as I was thinking it over, I'm afraid I
could hear my mother's voice, if not wailing at least
worrying somewhat from the other side of the grave as to
the step I was thinking of taking.
(Mother had always been afraid that I would wind up
a spendthrift. One of my ancestors, on her side of the
family, incidentally, had to have a conservator because
he became financially irresponsible. She was always
afraid that — I think sometimes she suspected that I already
was one — I would become one.)
It is true that to pay for this I did have to take
some money out of savings, because I didn't happen to have
enough in my checking account to pay for it out of current
funds. But I brushed the voice of Mother's ghost aside
and pretty well decided that if it were still available,
I would purchase it and offer it to the library.
AXE: As a gift.
CARPENTER: As a gift. Oh, yes, surely. On Tuesday
morning, the twelfth — I was not at the library on Monday,
that being a day off — I decided that one way of ending
any possible indecision on my part was to telephone and
find out if it were still available, because if it had
been sold then, neither the library nor I would need to
spend any time in deciding whether or not to acquire it.
So fairly early on Tuesday morning, the twelfth, I
telephoned the bookstore. Mr. [Robert] Bennett was in
England, as I knew he was, and I thought that I would get
the young man who has been working with him for some years,
a man named Bob Hyland, whom I know slightly. But someone
else answered. I found out later that Mr. Hyland is no
longer with the firm, and this was a man named George
Allen, who is now working with Bennett and Marshall.
I don't know whether he knew my name or not — he might have.
When I inquired, he said, yes, the item was still avail-
able. And when it came right down to the crunch, I didn't
even stop to think it over. I said, "All right. I'll
AXE: On the telephone?
CARPENTER: Yes, over the telephone. So he said, fine, he
would set it aside. And I said, "I will probably come on
Thursday to pick it up and bring you the money for it."
So there I was, committed. I told him that if he should
hear from the Huntington Library--again not knowing as yet
that the library was not going to try to get it--merely to
tell them that it was sold and not to tell them who had
bought it. I told him [this] in order to show him that I
was not undercutting my own employer, that my purpose
in buying it was to present it to the library so that
the library would get it even if they did telephone for
it. But of course they didn't. It wasn't that I was trying
to conceal things, but that was what I said at the moment.
Later that day, I told Mrs. Rust that I was going to
present it to the library. Of course, I didn't want to
be too definite until I actually had the document in my
hand because there was still a chance of some slipup some-
where along the line. Incidentally, Miss Preston didn't
find out that day that I was going to do so because that
particular week she was away in San Francisco at meetings
of the Society of American Archivists. So on that day,
I told only Mrs. Rust.
Then later that day--I don't know what brought it to
my mind — it occurred to me [that] if I'm going to make a
gift of this stature (at least it's a sizable amount of
stature as far as my finances are concerned) , I would
probably be justified in tacking onto it a name in memory
of someone, or something like that. Mother having passed
on about eighteen months ago, it would be logical, perhaps,
to give it in her memory. But on the other hand, although
Mother was a member of the Friends of the Huntington Library
and enjoyed going to affairs there, she had no particular
feeling for the Huntington. It wasn't any favorite library
of hers or anything like that. Nor did she have any
particular interest in Father Serra, other than that of
a well-read person who would know who he was and would
appreciate the fact that this was a nice document. Also,
there are already two memorials to Mother in the form of
genealogical books, which of course was a close interest
of hers. So I didn't feel that it was necessary to use
it in Mother's memory.
All of a sudden I had what seemed to me a very bright
idea, and that is to give it--fortunately not "in memory
of" because the lady is still alive and very much so — "in
honor of" Miss Haydee Noya, who was the assistant curator
of manuscripts at the library for many years, and handled
a tremendous amount of Californiana and western material,
and did a magnificent job in transcribing and translating
and cataloging and processing and helping scholars. I
think that day, I told Mrs. Rust that I was going to do
Then, on Thursday, the fourteenth of October, a day
off, I went out to Bennett and Marshall. I went earlier
to a savings and loan where I have a savings account, took
out the money, and put it in the form of a check for them,
a cashier's check rather than a personal check of mine.
Mr. Bennett knows me well, and Mr. Hyland does, too; and
either one of them would have been willing to take it in
the form of a personal check. But since I didn't know
the other person, I thought it would be just as well to
have it in a better-recognized form of negotiable paper,
so I had a check from a savings and loan association.
I went out, in the course of the afternoon, to Bennett
and Marshall, and I had a very nice talk with this Mr.
Allen, whom I hadn't met before. He has been in and out
of the antiquarian book business in Los Angeles for a few
years and had worked at the A±)bey [Book Shop] bookstore
and various places like that. Of course, we knew lots of
people in common. He had the document set aside for me
and handed it to me. I examined it, but, of course, I
didn't have to examine it very closely. I already knew
from the description what it was like, and of course, I
was satisfied that it was as represented. So I handed
him the check, and he handed me the document, wrapping it
up, of course. He said that only a few minutes after I
telephoned for it, someone else had telephoned. Then he
said there had been three or four orders since then, so that
I got in ahead of at least three or four orders. I told
him that there was no particular secrecy about it. If
there was any reason, he could give the name of the pur-
chaser; but perhaps the simplest thing, rather than giving
my personal name, would be merely to say that it had gone
into the Huntington Library, if anybody did inquire what had
become of it.
When I telephoned the first time, he had said that he
would mail it to me, but as I told him on the phone and
then later when I was talking with him, I think it's just
as well not to entrust that sort of thing to the mail any
more than you can help. But then, when I was leaving the
shop, I said, "Of course, I'm probably taking an even
greater risk carrying this home with me in the car and
keeping it home overnight than if I mailed it." Fortu-
nately that risk came off all right; I didn't have any
accidents in the automobile or anything, and I kept it
in my house over one night without having it burn down or
anything. So on Friday the fifteenth, I took it to the
I was rather busy during the morning. Mrs. Rust
happened to be there only for a portion of the morning,
and I did see her long enough to tell her that it was
actually physically at the library and that I would be
turning it over to them. That afternoon I wrote a little
memorandum to go with it, explaining that I wanted to fill
this gap in the library's collection and also that I wanted
it recorded as being in honor of--or some suitable wording
like that--Hayd^e Noya , for her work with manuscripts.
I wrote this little memorandum by hand to the librarian
in the manuscript department, put it with the document, and
left it in the librarian's office that afternoon.
As I explained to the librarian, I haven't actually
passed title to the document to the library yet, because
I want to do a little figuring and find out whether it would
be better from the point of view of my taxes to do it in
this calendar year or next calendar year. But the document
is there and is to remain there. It is a gift, but it
hasn't been acknowledged yet because they will date the
acknowledgement as of the time when I say that the gift
is actually being completed, being consummated. So that
is the situation with the document there in the library.
Mr. Dougan, the librarian, thanked me very warmly over the
house phone when he called me. Mrs. Rust had also, and
then when Miss Preston came back from her meetings in
San Francisco and found the situation, she did as well.
On the twentieth, the day before yesterday, it
happened that Miss Noya came for lunch. (She and Miss
[Phyllis] Rigney, another retired member of the manuscript
department, come once every couple of months, usually on
the same day, and have lunch with their former colleagues
and other people.) The Zamorano Club was lunching that
day at the Huntington, and I was helping entertain that
group; so I was not able to lunch with Miss Noya. Mrs.
Rust said they showed her the document, merely saying that
it had been given to the library; initially that was all
they told her. She was very enthusiastic, thought [that]
it was an excellent document and a very fine Serra example
and that it was wonderful that the library had it.
Then they showed her my little memorandum, saying
that I wanted it deposited there as a gift in honor of
Miss Noya, and they said she was very embarrassed at this.
I know, of course, that she's a very shy person. Mrs.
Rust, when I first mentioned this to her, had [asked if]
I wanted to hand it to Miss Noya myself, knowing that she
would be coming in before long. We might have a little
occasion at which I could hand it to her. I said no, that I
knew that Miss Noya wouldn't want that because she's a
very retiring person. She telephoned me on the house
phone, and I rather think that although she was not very many
yards away, she did this because she was even too embarrassed
to speak to me face-to-face.
We had spoken earlier in the day when she first
arrived. I had happened to be in the reference room when
she walked in, and we had greeted each other and had a
very nice little conversation before she knew anything
about the Serra document. But then, afterwards, I think
she was even too shy to speak to me face-to-face about
it, so she called me on the house phone from Mrs. Rust's
office. [She] was, of course, very much interested in
and pleased with the document but felt that it certainly
should not be recorded in her honor. She hadn't done
anything to be worthy of this and so forth and so on.
But of course, we're not going to pay any attention to
her protests and it will go ahead on the record as being a
gift to the library in honor of Miss Noya.
AXE: Well, that's just wonderful. Yes, that's very
Miss Noya, and they said she was very embarrassed at this.
I know, of course, that she's a very shy person. Mrs.
Rust, when I first mentioned this to her, had [asked if]
I wanted to hand it to Miss Noya myself, knowing that she
would be coming in before long. We might have a little
occasion at which I could hand it to her. I said no, that I
knew that Miss Noya wouldn't want that because she's a
very retiring person. She telephoned me on the house
phone, and I rather think that although she was not very many
yards away, she did this because she was even too embarrassed
to speak to me face-to-face.
We had spoken earlier in the day when she first
arrived. I had happened to be in the reference room when
she walked in, and we had greeted each other and had a
very nice little conversation before she knew anything
about the Serra document. But then, afterwards, I think
she was even too shy to speak to me face-to-face about
it, so she called me on the house phone from Mrs. Rust's
office. [She] was, of course, very much interested in
and pleased with the document but felt that it certainly
should not be recorded in her honor. She hadn't done
anything to be worthy of this and so forth and so on.
But of course, we're not going to pay any attention to
her protests and it will go ahead on the record as being a
gift to the library in honor of Miss Noya.
AXE: Well, that's just wonderful. Yes, that's very
interesting. Is it noted in the entryway that Miss
Noya colored those beautiful maps?
CARPENTER: Those two maps that are in v;hat we call the
Exhibitions Office or the front office?
CARPENTER: No, I don't think there's any mention there
that they are her handiwork.
AXE: She must be the most versatile person imaginable.
She translated "Al bello secso , " as you may remember.
CARPENTER: Oh, yes.
AXE: Could you tell us a little bit about Miss Noya?
Is her native language English?
CARPENTER: I don't know a great deal about her, because,
as I say, she is such a shy and retiring person. She
doesn't volunteer much information about herself. I know
she is a native of Puerto Rico. I don't know which language
she spoke first. I would say that she's completely bilingual
in English and Spanish. Presumably her family were a
Spanish-speaking family, although she may actually have
started both languages simultaneously, as some children
do. But if not her number-one language, Spanish was
certainly her equal language to begin with. She certainly
is completely bilingual in the two languages. Of course,
[she] has knowledge of older forms of Spanish and that
sort of thing, as well as modern Spanish.
I don't know anything about the circumstances that
led her from Puerto Rico to the mainland, or into this
field of activity. Being such a shy person and also
coming from a culture where it's quite common for women
to remain more or less secluded, it would have seemed
likely that she would have just stayed quietly in a home
someplace in Puerto P^ico all her life. But somehow she
did get into this world of manuscript activity. I don't
know whether she had worked anyplace else before she came
to the Huntington or not, and I don't know how long she
was at the Huntington. Also, I don't know her age. She
retired from the library--oh, it's hard for me to remember
now--perhaps a year or maybe as much as two [years] ago,
perhaps not as long as two years ago. Although she's
obviously a mature woman, everyone seems to feel that she
didn't retire because [of] the mandatory retirement age —
that she left the library somewhat earlier than she would
have needed to--because that is sixty-eight, and I'm sure
she is not that old.
CARPENTER: Sixty-eight, yes.
AXE: She's been at the library, then, at least thirty-five
years. "Al bello secso" was supposed to have been published
in '37, and she was finished with the translation around
'35, maybe; so I would say thirty-five years easily. And
Mr. [Henry R. ] Wagner knew her well before that.
CARPENTER: Well, yes, she was there many years, certainly.
AXE: She must have come to the library as a very young
CARPENTER: Well, as I say, I just don't know the details
of her age when she came. She may very well have been
young, because, as you say, she was certainly at the
library thirty-five years or perhaps more. Of course,
it would be possible to ascertain, from the old staff
lists and things like that, when she actually came.
CARPENTER: She did a tremendous amount of work over these
years, putting into order and cataloging and transcribing
and translating. We don't translate anywhere near all of
our documents at all, but once in a while, there's some
reason when someone wants one translated. Then, as you've
pointed out, she also did very fine work in [what] I
suppose you would call manuscript illumination and made
beautiful facsimiles, I guess, with real gold and the
appropriate colors of early maps and things of that nature,
Certainly [she] was a tremendous asset to the library,
despite her disclaimers, for a long time.
AXE: I can't remember ever having met her, but I may
CARPENTER: Well, I hope that you have met her at one
time or another, because she is a charming person, as
you can imagine, very quiet.
AXE: In her appearance, is she Spanish?
CARPENTER: Yes, she's rather Hispanic in appearance.
AXE: Now back to the day she was there for lunch: was
she with the Zamorano Club at any time? Was any mention
of the manuscript made at this lunch?
CARPENTER: No, there was no reference to it. She and
Miss Rigney and some of the present manuscript staff ate
together in one of the dining rooms. Of course, it sounds
very elegant to refer to "one of the dining rooms," but
it does happen that the lunchroom or cafeteria building
at the Huntington Library is set up with two different
dining rooms. There is a third room which is called the
Seminar Room, and usually is set up with chairs for presen-
tations, and is not a dining room. But on this occasion,
for the visit of the Zamorano Club, they had set up a table
in that room, which is the pleasantest room in the building,
So the members of the Zamorano Club--there were twelve
present — were in the front room, or Seminar Room, which
is rather removed from the other rooms .
I saw Miss Noya and Miss Rigney and the others go out.
The doors were open in such a way that they looked down a
short hallway and sort of looked at our luncheon as they
went by on their way out. But there was no connection
between the two groups. Mr. Dougan, the librarian, was
not at the Zamorano luncheon, and I don't suppose that
Dr. [James] Thorpe, the director, had yet been told about
the gift; so there probably wasn't anyone at the table
that knew about it except me, and I didn't volunteer any
information about it. We had a very nice luncheon.
As you know, the Zamorano Club has been having quite
a little trouble on its luncheon business. When it still
had rooms at the University Club, this worked out very well.
The service was good there. There was one waiter in parti-
cular at the University Club who would, on those Wednesdays,
devote his full attention to the Zamorano group and their
luncheon--although even before the club left the University
Club, the luncheons were falling off considerably in atten-
dance. Originally, most of the active members worked in
downtown Los Angeles or were where they could very easily
get there; whereas as time went on, some of these men grew
older, retired or died, or left the club, or moved their
places of business or their connections. So there were
fewer and fewer people who were actually in the downtown
area. For that, and for other reasons, the attendance
was rather dropping off.
Then, when the club had to leave the University Club
and took rooms at the Biltmore Hotel, it was thought that
this would work out very nicely, but actually it didn't.
I never attended any of the luncheons at the Biltmore.
A few were held there, but I understand that the arrange-
ments were very difficult and the service was terrible.
The attendance [was] again dropping, and then of course
dropped all the more because of that. It got to be pretty
bad, and eventually the luncheons were just sort of dis-
continued without any formal declaration; they just disap-
peared. Various members of the club have been rather
distressed at this. As a matter of fact, I understand
that Dr. Marcus Crahan suggested that the group could
come to his house for lunch every week. He and some
others have been anxious to do something about it.
In a normal month there used to be three lunches on
Wednesdays. The first Wednesday is the regular dinner
meeting. They do not have a lunch on the Wednesday when
they're going to have the dinner meeting. The other three
Wednesdays, they normally used to have lunches, [and]
four Wednesdays if there was a five-week month. A sug-
gestion was made that since part of the problem was the
geographical setup, the lunches peregrinate. For instance,
on second Wednesdays it [could] be at the Faculty Club at
UCLA, or someplace like that in the west part of Los Angeles,
so that the people in that area could make it. Perhaps
the third Wednesday it might be in the downtown area and
maybe the fourth Wednesday at the Huntington Library, or at
the Athenaeum at Caltech, or someplace like that, so that
the men who were in that part of town could make it.
Well, something like this might work out. Apparently,
it hasn't as yet worked out to happen as often as every
week. That may be more than it will be possible to do.
The current president, Roby Wentz, said something last
Wednesday about the third Wednesday being half a month
away from the meeting night, and that this would give
us twice a month: the meeting the first Wednesday, and
a luncheon on the third Wednesday. He didn't say, if it
were only one Wednesday in a month for lunch, v;hether that
would be more or less fixed at, say, the Huntington Library
or whether it would circulate. But at any rate, that
problem is being worked on, and, as far as I can see, this
worked out rather well.
I was a little hesitant over what might happen, because
a lot of the members are a little on the gourmet side, and
they like rather good food. With all due respect to Mrs.
[Mary] Walsh, our cook and manager, I don't think that the
Huntington lunchroom is quite cordon bleu. She knew there
would be extra people for lunch, but I don't think she
planned anything special . But she happened to have a
fairly good entree. One thing which is quite good and
popular is a salad which is alternate slices of ham and
honeydew melon, and I noticed several of the gentlemen
took that. It happened to ba a day when there was a good
selection at the cafeteria.
I had also wondered how it would be handled. They
just went down the cafeteria line, along with everybody
else, and paid cash when they got to the cashier. There
was no problem about having to line up anybody to serve
or any problem with billing or anything of that nature.
There was a little service in that, towards the end of the
meal. Dr. Thorpe himself brought a pot of coffee around for
refills or cups of coffee. The men did go through the cafe-
teria line, but we did have a table set up with placemats
and a little keepsake at each place for them.
AXE: Oh, that was nice.
CARPENTER: Well, the library has just published a pamphlet
(I should have brought you one; I'm sorry I didn't think
of it) called Letters in Manuscript . I don't know whether
you remember; there was one a couple of years ago called
Poems in Manuscript which facsimiles some of the manuscript
poems that are in the library.
AXE: Is it by Grant?
CARPENTER: Printed by Grant Dahlstrom, yes; edited by
[Dr.] Thorpe. Well, now, the same thing again: Grant
printed it, and Dr. Thorpe edited it and wrote the fore-
word in the same format. There was one of those at each
place, with a little presentation slip from the director.
Twelve showed up. There were thirteen reservations, and
we had set the table for twelve, which turned out to be
just exactly right, of course.
AXE: Oh, who all was there?
CARPENTER: Well, let's see. From the library there
were Dr. Thorpe, and Ray Billington, and me. Then there
was the president, Roby Wentz; and then printers Ward
Ritchie and Grant Dahlstrom; and Bob Weinstein from
Anderson, Ritchie, and Simon; and Bob Blanchard, lawyer;
and George Fullerton, collector. (You know Mr. Fullerton,
of course.) And Elmer Belt; it was nice that Dr. Belt
AXE: Oh, but not Henry Clifford?
CARPENTER: No. I don't know [various members'] reasons
[for not coming]; some of them might have felt they couldn't
take the time. Of course, he is one that still does work
in the downtown area, and he might have felt that he
couldn't come out and go back.
AXE: Well, anyway, it was an historic first.
CARPENTER: Yes, I guess so, and it went off very well.
One of the complaints about the luncheons in recent years
had been there was too much discussion of politics and
things like that. I don't know whether people were delib-
erately trying to avoid it or not, but this time the conver-
sation was about nothing except literary and bookish matters.
A few personal matters: for instance, there was some talk
about Mr. [Will W. ] Clary and his passing, of course, and
regrets about that. Then another member, a newer member,
Dick Hoffman, the printing professor at Los Angeles State
College, had gone into the hospital a couple of days
before for a throat operation; and there was some discussion
of that, of course.
AXE: Is he all right?
CARPENTER: Well, I heard this afternoon that he is to
come home tomorrow, which sounds promising. However, I
believe they were not to know for a while, until the results
of some tests, as to the degree of malignancy or whatever
he has in his larynx. It may not be too good, but at any
rate, he seems to be all right at the moment. So of course,
there was a little personal conversation like that, but we
didn't get into any of the current events or the politics
of the day.
AXE: Well, did Mr. Wentz say that the next luncheon would
be there, or wasn't that discussed?
CARPENTER: Well, in order to get back and make sure that
the rare-book stack was opened up again at one o'clock, as
it's supposed to be, I left the table before the rest of
them did, so I don't know. He may have made some such
announcement, but I rather think not. I think it's still
up in the air. This one was announced by postcard, and
I think perhaps there will just be another postcard telling
us what the next arrangement will be. It isn't as soon as
Wednesday of next week, because there's another week after
that [and then] it will be the next regular monthly dinner
That's going to be [for] Father Geiger. Father Geiger
had his seventieth birthday recently, and it's sort of in
honor of that. He'll be the guest at dinner. Then he will
speak--not about himself or his activities at the mission.
but on the San Gabriel Mission, which is having its
bicentennial this year. It was founded in 1771.
AXE: I've seen some ads recently of San Gabriel Mission.
They have shops there.
CARPENTER: Well, the mission itself, as administered by
whatever religious body it is, has a sort of curio and
gift shop, I think, but there aren't multiple shops. Now,
of course, across the street from the mission there is a
shop with Mexican art and antiquities and things and a
leather shop which included Mexican-type belts and things
There also is a rock shop, which I think I may have
mentioned to you. Mother and I were looking at one time
for a Navajo roadrunner pin for someone, and we had an
acquaintance who had one. We asked her where she got it,
and she told us that she had gotten it at this rock shop.
I'd always thought that it was just a rock shop for lapid-
aries, people interested in gerastones and polishing and
that sort of thing. When we went in, we discovered that
they — of course, their stock rises and falls with its
availability--try to have on hand all the time a fair
selection of southwestern Indian jewelry — Navajo, Hopi ,
Pueblo jewelry, bolo tie runners and pins and earrings
and necklaces and all sorts of things of that nature. On
two or three occasions. Mother and I went in there and got
things from that shop.
There are gift shops around the mission, but I think
the mission proper actually only contains the one. But
this being their bicentennial year, they're making quite
a little to-do about it. [yawns]
AXE: Are you getting tired?
CARPENTER: No, no. Incidentally, speaking both of Miss
Noya and also of San Gabriel, you know Tommy Temple, do
you not--Thomas Workman Temple II, who is the historian
of the mission?
CARPENTER: Well, even though I'm not as far along [in
years] as he, I'm already beginning to have the same
sensation — not necessarily frantically, but at least
having to give some thought to what's going to become of
one's collections, either during his lifetime or after,
placing them or disposing them or what to do and so forth.
Partly because of that question of wanting to do something
with his collection, and also partly because he has had
rather serious and very expensive illnesses, partly to
raise money Tommy Temple decided that he would sell what
he had accumulated over the years as a mission historian.
Now, he wrote me a letter about it, not directly
offering it to the Huntington, but in terms which would
lead me to suggest it to the Huntington if I thought it
wise and so forth. Since the letter was not specifically
an offer of the material, he wasn't very specific about
just what it constituted. He rather made it sound as if
there were a lot of original mission records in his collec-
tion. I don't believe actually they are; I think it's
mostly transcripts that he's made over the years. I know
he's spent many, many years working in the mission records
here and there, and he's copied a great many of them and
taken very extensive notes, particularly for genealogies
of early California families and things like that. There
are probably some original materials and probably some
photographic copies and some handwritten copies. I don't
know exactly the nature of the collection. But at any rate,
I found out Tuesday evening that it's been acquired, and I
guess it was purchased, by the Los Angeles County Museum of
Natural History; so that, I think, will be a suitable
disposition of it.
AXE: Of his collection?
CARPENTER: Of his collection, yes.
AXE: Well, he certainly has done a lot of work for them, too.
CARPENTER: Oh, yes, yes. I thought of him earlier when
I was speaking about Miss Noya ' s being bilingual. On more
than one occasion, I have gone into her office to see her,
and she was on the telephone talking with Tommy Temple.
Of course, he's bilingual, too; and the conversation was
sometimes quite interesting, because it was a regular
sandwich of Spanish and English, going back and forth
between the two languages.
I noticed also in the last number of Bancrof tiana ,
the newsletter from the Bancroft Library, that they had
acquired some mission records from both upper and lower
California. Those, I believe, are original records.
[It] sounded as if that were quite an important group.
AXE: I have it, but I can't remember where they came
CARPENTER: Incidentally, the Temple material includes
not only upper California but some lower California mater-
ial and also, I think, a good deal of Sonora material,
because he went into Sonora as the point of origin of many
of the early comers to Alta California. Of course, the
men who came in 1769 and then the settlers, men and women,
too — many of them were from Sonora. So he used Sonora
records in an effort to trace them. I'm not so sure in
his own case, but certainly his wife's ancestors came from
Sonora, also. I believe they even have a house in Alamos.
I don't mean a house that they inherited--one that they've
bought recently. But at least they have been going and
spending some time in Alamos, so he has had quite a little
research activity in Sonora, and I think his collection
includes quite a little Sonora material.
AXE: Is it the Bancroft Library, in Bancrof tiana , that
obtained that De la Guerra material? Is that where I
CARPENTER: No. That ties in with Miss Noya, too.
There was this Father [Jose] Thompson, v/ho was a descendant
of the famous Thompson-De la Guerra marriage.
AXE: Of course, and he's the one to whose home Mr. Wagner
and Mr. [George L. ] Harding went, and he showed them
Zamorano imprints--which I intend to write up a little more.
But he wouldn't sell them to Mr. Wagner. He sold them to
Ed [Edwin E.] Grabhorn, and Mr. Wagner bought them from
Ed Grabhorn and sold them to [Thomas W.] Streeter....
CARPENTER: To Mr. Streeter, yes. Apparently Father
Thompson kept the manuscript portion of the collection,
because he had quite extensive De la Guerra papers.
AXE: I didn't know he was a member of the De la Guerra
CARPENTER: Oh, yes. That's how he got the papers, you
see--by descent. He spoke one night at The [Los Angeles]
Westerners [Club] , and he mentioned his ownership of this
family archive. In the discussion afterwards, somebody
said, "But, Father Thompson, I understood that Franciscans
were not supposed to own any property" — which I think is
true, but I don't remember how he turned that aside. But
he did own a group of De la Guerra papers. He had said
that he was going to leave them to the mission archive.
Shortly before his death, he deposited them at the
Huntington Library — not, however, in the ownership of the
library. The library knew that they were not to become
the library's property. But even so, the library devoted
quite a little effort to them, and while they were there,
Miss Noya cataloged them. Then, with permission, of course,
the library microfilmed them. So the library has the micro-
film of them. At his death, he willed them to the Santa
Barbara Mission archive, and eventually they were picked
up by the authorities from there. So they were delivered
to them, and they are now in Santa Barbara, but with a
catalog and calendar made by Miss rioya and with a complete
microfilm in the Huntington Library. I don't know whether
there are other microfilms elsewhere or not. Now, the
Bancroft [Library] may have acquired something of the De la
Guerra provenance, too, but the ones that have been floating
around fairly recently [are from] Father Thompson's collection,
There's another little anecdote I might tell, although
I've probably told you before. When Dr. [Robert G.] Cleland's
book on the Irvine Ranch came out, although Dr. Cleland was
not very muckraking in taking the Irvines to task, he did
tell a couple of stories in which Irvine was on the wrong
[side] of fences that seemed to wander a little bit farther
than they used to, enclosing streams and springs and things
like that when they weren't supposed to. There was one
incident — I forget what it was or who it involved — [that]
had to do with either Irvine or one of the previous owners
of the ranch and another ranchero getting involved in a
dispute over water rights or a water hole or something like
that. It appears that one of Father Thompson's aunts
thought that it didn't reflect credit on a member of
their family and that this shouldn't be told outside the
family. She thought that Father Thompson was the one who
had told Cleland, and she blamed him for having let this
family cat out of the bag to Dr. Cleland. He denied it,
but he said that she would never believe him.
Well, he mentioned this story and this incident
speaking that night at the Westerners. And he said that
he officiated at her funeral.
AXE: Dr. Cleland?
CARPENTER: No, no, no. He — Father Thompson. Father
Thompson officiated at his aunt's funeral.
AXE: Oh, I see.
CARPENTER: And he said that as they were lowering her into
the ground and he was sprinkling the coffin with holy water,
he couldn't help saying under his breath, "Now, Aunt So-and-so,
you know that I'm not the one who told that story to Dr.
Cleland." W.W. Robinson was sitting next to me, and he
leaned over and said, "No, I was." [laughter] So it was
Robinson who told the story to Cleland, and not Father
AXE: I was surprised, visiting San Juan Capistrano for
the first time in many, many years, to notice this plaque
of Abraham Lincoln, so I went over to read the inscription.
Abraham Lincoln gave the mission back to the church.
AXE: I was surprised to see that. They're doing so much
excavating now and really trying to do a little more
historical work on the church.
CARPENTER: Yes, I believe they're doing quite a good
deal there at San Juan Capistrano. But I was talking the
other day with Don Meadows, who is a long-time Orange
County resident and an Orange County historian. He had
been there not long since to take his grandchildren. He,
of course, has known San Juan ever since he was a boy and
used to know Father O' Sullivan, [who] I think was the
famous father there, and whom, of course, Mr. Wagner knew,
AXE: And he isn't a real beatified saint. His name was
St. John O'Sullivan, wasn't it?
CARPENTER: V^7hy, I don't know about that. No, he's not
beatified or canonized or anything like that.
AXE: Yes, [the] children were all excited to....
CARPENTER: He [Don Meadows] had gone, I guess, to take
his grandchildren there, and he hadn't been for some little
time. He was a little distressed when he came in, because
he said that they have made such a lovely and luxuriant
and beautiful--maybe lovely isn't quite the word, but
striking--garden as you come in; he doesn't think it really
gives a true picture of a California mission. It's much more
of a garden and much more elaborate, many more plants and
things like that than one would have seen. Some of the
higher vegetation also somewhat masks the buildings, so
that as you come in you don't get the impact of the buildings
with comparatively little vegetation around them, which
would have been the case in their palmy days.
AXE: Well, the bougainvillea is just beautiful, and the
trees are very old.
CARPENTER: Oh, well, certainly some of them are. I think
there [are] some pepper trees, if I remember. I haven't
been there for a while.
AXE: One beautiful pepper tree--that's on the side. No,
I couldn't agree with him there. Otherwise, everything is
kept low. They've put in lots of pools, you see. It isn't
a true mission garden in that sense. It's much barer, of
CARPENTER: Yes, yes.
AXE: In this case, I think as long as the form of the mission
is in the courtyard type of thing, it lends itself very
well to the tall trees, which must be very old. I don't
think that they were recently put there, although that's
being done now. I think they must have been there for a
long, long time.
CARPENTER: Yes, very possibly.
AXE: I don't know. It's such a different type of mission
than the mission at Purisima, because of the many court-
CARPENTER: Yes. Well, of course, one point that I've
been somewhat interested in recently is about this matter
of trees. I think most of us around here nowadays don't
realize how comparatively recent most of the tree material
around here is. For instance, the little lake that's in
the west end of Pasadena, on the old Campbell-Johnson
property, had at one time on its banks a winery. It's
now converted into a private house. We have a photograph
in the Huntington Library that must have been taken in
the late eighties or early nineties from Raymond Hill
where the Raymond Hotel was, at the north edge of South
Pasadena looking west, and the winery shows up very plainly
in this view. It would be, I suppose, a mile and a half
or two miles away, but it shows up very plainly in this
picture. Now, you couldn't begin to see the winery from
Raymond Hill, because there [are] just so many trees in
the way. You can't see anywhere near that far. I realize
that in those days there just [wasn't] anywhere near as
much vegetation in between.
This was illustrated with some other photographs
very strikingly. A woman named Maida Boyle, who was
recently doing some work with the archaeological excava-
tions at San Luis Rey Mission, came to the library to find
out what we had in the way of early photographs, so we got
things out. We have some very nice Carleton Watkins photo-
graphs of San Luis Rey, made probably in the very late
seventies or early eighties. Some of them are taken from
a little distance from a hill or a rise a little distance
away, and some of them [are] closer shots. The striking
thing there is that there's hardly a blade of growing
anything anywhere in sight. Here's the full-scale mission
building, and everything just sticking up, almost out of
bare dirt. That still is not a heavily treed area now.
AXE: You're talking about San Luis Rey?
CARPENTER: This is San Luis Rey, yes. I don't think it's
lush now, exactly, but of course, there are many trees in
and around the countryside around there. In these early
pictures, everything is practically as bare as the palm of
your hand. [tape recorder turned off]
It's just a peculiar sort of strength that doesn't
mean anything in particular, but we're the only library
in the world that has both the first edition and the second
edition of Hamlet . Of the first edition, the 1603 quarto,
there are only two known copies. We have one, and the
British Museum has the other. Ours is the better copy,
because ours lacks the final leaf; but theirs lacks the
title page. Of course, it's very desirable to have the
title page, which we do. Each one has supplied the other.
We have a photocopy of the final leaf from them, and they
have a photocopy of the title page from us. As a matter of
fact, that's been put out in facsimile many times, so that
anybody can have the facsimile of the whole thing.
Then the 1604 Hamlet, the second edition, we have a
copy, and it happens that the British Museum, which has
the other copy of the first edition, isn't a library that
has the second. The second is not as rare as the first,
and there are six or eight known copies of it. But it
just happens that the British Museum doesn't have one,
so we're the only library that has the first and second
AXE: The Huntington has a very good collection of Milton,
AXE: Does [the William Andrews] Clark [Memorial Library]
CARPENTER: Well, I don't know. No, I would suspect we have
better than the Clark; it's one of our pretty good strengths.
Yes, we have a very strong Milton collection.
AXE: Now when you say a Milton collection, do you mean
first editions and second editions?
CARPENTER: Yes, first editions and then the significant
later editions where he made textual changes and things
like that. Plus [we have] later editions which have
scholarly annotations by different editors, and contemporary
and later books about him and so forth--the contemporary
ones as far as possible, of course, in first edition. Then
also [we have] the general things of his period that form
background for studying him--the other things that were being
published at the time, the writings of the period.
AXE: This is really not your department, but you're
interested in the whole library.
CARPENTER: Oh, well, yes, surely.
AXE: The reason I brought up Milton [was] because Mr.
Wagner had spoken about the remarkable Milton collection
that someone had in England. In spite of the fact that
it was far afield from his interests, still he noted that
it was a remarkable collection, that he was glad to see it.
CARPENTER: I might mention, since we were talking along
this line, something that I was mentioning to someone else
just the other day. A lot of our collections are not col-
lections as such; that is, they are not together, the
material is scattered. For instance, the Milton material
would be spread among our seventeenth-century holdings.
They're mainly alphabetical by author, so the things that
Milton himself wrote would be together. But writings by
others, things like that — possible books containing contri-
butions by him and the contemporary literature — might be
pretty well scattered.
There are very few collections which we have intact
as a specific collection. This means that we often have
fairly strong holdings where we don't know it or don't
realize it particularly. For instance, Mr. Clary, of whom
we were speaking earlier--who just died recently — was a
trustee of two or three of the Claremont Colleges and quite
interested in the activities in Claremont. (I guess he was
a Pomona graduate.) He formed a collection on Oxford.
Of course, the Claremont Colleges in Pomona--! don't
think it worked out quite the way they intended it — are
supposed to be sort of like Oxford, a group of colleges
in a town. Because Oxford is supposed to underlie Claremont,
as it were, Mr. Clary formed a very good collection of
books on Oxford, about the university and the town, the
history of the place, and gave it to the [William L.]
Honnold [iMemorial] Library, which is the library for all
the Claremont Colleges. I don't know whether he gave the
panelling, too, or how they got it, but it's fixed up in
a nicely panelled room and all very attractively done. A
catalog of it was published; Grant Dahlstrom printed it.
They have made quite a to-do over it at one time and
Well, I can't remember who it was, but I remember
one time a few years back, there was some visiting scholar
using the Huntington Library. He wasn't working particularly
on Oxford, but he was doing something in English history
or literature which led him to go out and use that collec-
tion and also use books at the Huntington. I don't know,
again, what brought it up or why he said it to me, but he
said, "You know, scattered throughout your general collec-
tion, you've got a better Oxford collection than the Clary
Collection." I think that's often the case. If you put
it together, pull things together, we often have quite
MR. AXE: Is there any chance that they'll get computers?
That you'll press a button, and everything about Milton
will come cut?
CARPENTER: Well, of course, the computer people say that
this can be done, and already there are some things like
that. I think there are some libraries where the contents--
that is, the authors and titles and things like that — have
been put into computers. I don't know whether that's tape
or what the form is, but [they are] fed in in such a way
that you can push a button, and it will--I think the term
is — "print out" for you a list of all the books they have
by a person, or on a person, or something like that. Of
course, I'm sure, especially in rare-book libraries, that
computers will never be as much use as their advocates
think. But there will be some things that can be done that
way. But whatever they are, the Huntington will be the
last to adopt them.
AXE: Off the record, Ed, do you think that had the Hunt-
ington had trained librarians from the beginning, there
would be a little more system available, shall we say?
CARPENTER: Oh, I don't know. I don't think it makes too
much difference. I think it would have developed more or
less the way it has. Of course, a strong personality, regard-
less of professional training, might have pushed it in one
direction or another. I don't know just what George
Watson Cole's training was. [He] was the first librarian.
Leslie Bliss doesn't count as the second; he's either the
third or fourth. There was a Mr. [Chester] Cate in there
briefly between the two of them. But even during Mr. Cole's
time, Mr. Bliss was quite a key person. I know from what Mr.
[Robert O.] Schad told me and what Mr. Wagner told me, too,
that Mr. Huntington relied very heavily on Mr. Bliss and dealt
a good deal directly with him. I mentioned this to someone
recently who was quite surprised to find out and didn't real-
ize that Mr. Bliss was a professionally trained librarian. I
think he went to the library school at Albany [New York] that
Melvil Dewey was connected with. So there was a professional
librarian in a responsible position there for a great many
But of course, when you're hired by a wealthy man in his
private capacity, you do things the way he wants them done;
so the library initially developed along the lines of Mr.
Huntington's interests. I don't know whether anybody ever
would have felt that we should have done anything else.
But anyhow, what happened is that classification in the
rare books is purely our own, just a rule-of -thumb classi-
fication based on what a private collector would do, even
if he only had books enough to fill one room. He'd put
first editions in one place, and extra illustrated books in
another, and incunabula in another, and Western Americana in
another, and so forth. So the categories in our rare-book
classification, generally speaking, are just broad classi-
fications like that, the way a private collector would have
had them when he had a small holding.
I don't know whether it makes any difference to you,
but I mentioned that, with very few exceptions, collections
are not kept together. The one or two exceptions that I
can think of are primarily when you have a subject that's
so specialized that it just seems logical to keep them
together. One that you might be interested in is a cate-
gory on artificial languages, the A.L. Bancroft Collection,
which was kept together. I think that was A.L.'s, wasn't
AXE: Oh, yes, but I didn't know it was there. I wonder if
that's the one that Mrs. [Sara B.] Fry was so upset about.
You see, he was her father.
CARPENTER: Yes, I know that.
AXE: She wouldn't give anything further to the library be-
cause of the way they had treated one collection (I hope this
isn't recording) that she had given them previously. I didn't
know that they had that.
CARPENTER: Well, I don't know anything about this story,
and I know nothing about her relations with the library.
But we do have a collection on artificial languages that was
A.L. Bancroft's, and I suppose we got it from her.
AXE: I imagine the sixteenth-century Mexican imprints would
all be one collection.
CARPENTER: Well, no. As a matter of fact, they are not.
AXE: Are they done by...?
CARPENTER: No, no, unless it has some other particular
reason, which I'll mention in a minute. Early books about
America, or printed in America, are classed as what we
call A-date — "A" for Americana and then the publication date
of the item itself. They're arranged chronologically, so
the classification of a Mexican book of 1566 would be A-1566,
Then within the year, they're alphabetically by the author.
So even the sixteenth-century Mexican imprints, which are a
rather homogeneous grouping, are not kept together. They
would be cheek-by- jowl with other books printed in the same
year, maybe in Holland, maybe in France, maybe in England,
maybe someplace else, you see.
AXE: Oh, what a difficult....
CARPENTER: Well, of course, it isn't a matter exactly of
difficulty, because our shelves are completely closed to
everyone. It's not only, in library parlance, a closed
stack, but a locked stack as well. Even what would be
equivalent of graduate students or faculty don't have
stack access as they often do in a university library. So
as long as the rare-book staff can produce the book, it
doesn't make any difference to the user how it's shelved.
He has to get at it through the card catalog anyhow. He
can find what we have in the way of sixteenth-century
Mexican imprints because in addition to the author cards
and the title cards that would be in the general catalog,
we do keep an imprint catalog. Of course, in the case of
Mexico, he's confined to Mexico City. If he looked under
Mexico City, he would find a card for each one, and then
he would do what he'd have to do anyhow: make out a call
slip for each one with its accession number, which serves
as the call number.
MR. AXE: Well, how about these castles in Spain? No,
it wasn't Spain.
AXE: In Germany, yes. Well, first just one more thing.
What date did you come to the library?
CARPENTER: Well, I've worked there three times. I came
first in about September of '46. I got out of the service
in April of '46; and I went to work there in the fall,
about September, and worked there for a little bit over a
year. Then I decided that I'd never get my doctorate done
if I didn't devote full time to it. I didn't have to
work for support because at that time there was the GI Bill
available to finance one's studies; so I left the library
and went on.
AXE: What were you doing at the library then?
CARPENTER: At that time I was in the rare-book department,
as I am now, but my primary function was [as] the attendant
at the desk in the rare-book reading room. The people who
man that desk now are members of the reference department
staff, but in those days they were classed as members of
the rare-book department staff. So I was a member of the
rare-book [department]. Of course, I was the junior
Then I came back again to the library in the fall of
1950 for about two and a half years. That time I was in
editorial work in the publications department up on the
second floor. [I] did editorial work with Godfrey Davies,
particularly, on the [ Huntington Library] Quarterly and
then also on the books that were coming out at the time.
Then I went off to the New York Public Library, and then
I came back to the Huntington the third time — and very
likely the final time — on April first of 1960. I've been
there a little over eleven years in this stretch, and in
all it totals about fifteen years or so.
AXE: Oh, that's very interesting. Now, Ed, tell us a
little about when you were in Germany, if you can travel
over across the sea.
CARPENTER: Well, I don't know about any sort of connected
account of my time there. You and I were talking on the
telephone not so long ago about a friend of yours who was
very much interested in castles and so forth. We were
speaking of different castles and pictures of them, and I
spoke of the fact that there were travel posters which have
very striking photographs of Neuschwanstein, which was one
of the castles of Ludwig II of Bavaria. And I mentioned
the fact that I went there during the war, when it was full
of looted art.
AXE: Well, you were stationed in Heidelberg.
CARPENTER: Yes. It must have been at the time when we
were stationed in Heidelberg. It might have been before
our outfit actually settled down in Heidelberg. We spent
the summer of 1945 in Heidelberg, and that was probably
the period. You expressed some interest in that and wanted
to hear about that particular occasion.
I was in the historical section of the Seventh Army.
I had been for some little time then. Although we worked
fairly hard, and I think produced something worthwhile, we
were fairly easygoing about it, too. After the actual war
was over, the summer of '45 there in Heidelberg, each man
had one day off a week. Usually he had a vehicle at his
disposal, a jeep or something, so he could do sightseeing
and so forth. As it happened, this particular incident
didn't involve sightseeing on my part, because I was doing
this officially with the army historian.
The army historian was kind of an interesting man. He
was Colonel William B. Goddard. He was a slight anomaly in
the army in that he was a reserve officer who was a West
Pointer. He had been an enlisted man in the First World
War, and late in the First World War they had quite a
program of sending promising enlisted men to West Point.
He was one of those, and he had come back from France in
1918, or something like that, to go to West Point. I don't
know where he stood in his class, but he completed his
course there, graduated, and I suppose was commissioned.
But not very long after--! don't know just how long after--
he decided that the army was not for him and resigned his
commission. Again, I don't know whether simultaneously or
later he took up a reserve commission. In the reserve he
had worked his way up to lieutenant colonel at the time of
the Second World War. He reentered the army in the Second
World War as a reserve officer and held that rank; and during
the time I knew him, he didn't get any promotion, so he
was still a lieutenant colonel.
He was then in the somewhat anomalous position [due to]
the fact that quite a few of the men who were major generals
and things like that had been classmates of his, and he
knew them personally. There were one or two instances
when he was discussing the affairs of the historical
section with us and wanting to know how they were going,
and one of us would say, "Well, such and such division
is rather slow about getting in its reports," or "They're
rather skimpy about the amount of historical information
they send in." And he'd say, "Oh, well. Old Stinky commands
that division. I'll go around and talk with him." And he
would disappear for a day or two and come back and say,
"Well, I don't think you'll have any more trouble from the
such and such division." He was very helpful that way.
Another thing is that — contrary to the situation, I
believe, in some other historical outfits in the army —
he wasn't any historian. He knew it, and he didn't try
to interfere. He even went so far as to say to a group
of us at one time, "I'm just here to do your errands
for you. You fellows do the historical work and let me
straighten out things and help you where necessary" —
and so forth and so on. He was a very affable person.
I don't even know whether we started that day with the
objective of going to Neuschwanstein, or whether he just
wanted to go out for the day or what, but one day he took me
with him. Although he had a regular driver, for some reason
or other the driver didn't come that day--may have been his
day off--and I drove. I guess it was a jeep. It might
have been a command car, but I think it was a jeep. I don't
think we were in Heidelberg at that time because it wasn't
so very far. I think we must have been at Augsburg. Wherever
it was, we weren't very far from the Bavarian Alps and that
area in there, and so we poked around. I remember we went
to Garmisch Partenkirchen that day, and we went to a huge
cloister called Kloster Ettal. I don't know whether it
was Benedictine or not. Near that, we went to another of
Ludwig ' s palaces called Linderhof. (Come to think of it,
I'm not sure I went to Linderhof that same day with Colonel
Goddard, but that doesn't make any difference.)
We were poking around the edges of the Alps as they
come down into Bavaria there, and so we went to Neuschwan-
stein. Well, the war was still on, and they had not
sorted out the art treasures that were being recovered.
[Neuschwanstein] had been used by the Germans as a storage
place for looted art, particularly, I believe, from France.
So as soon as that area was taken over by the Americans,
a heavy guard was put on the place. Access to it was very
tightly controlled because, of course, [of the] tremendous
amount of valuable material in there.
We drove up; it has a curving, sweeping driveway that
climbs rather sharply and comes up to (of course, there
isn't literally a moat there, but it almost feels that
way as you approach) this great gate. As we got a few
yards from the gate, a guard stepped out with his rifle--
I can't remember the military maneuvers involved; I guess
at port arms. When he saw it was an officer, he presented
arms, and then back to port arms and stopped us very
Colonel Goddard said we wished to go in and see the
interior, and the man said he was sorry but it was off
limits to practically everyone. Colonel Goddard said,
"Well, who can authorize admittance?" and the soldier said,
"Only two persons, sir. The Seventh Army fine-arts officer"
(who was Jimmy [James J.] Rorimer, who later became the
director of the Metropolitan Museum; he was, I think, a
lieutenant or something at the time) "and the army historian.
So Colonel Goddard said, "Well, do you know Colonel
Goddard by sight?" And the man said, "No, sir, but I
recognize his handwriting." So Colonel Goddard reached
into a sort of a field carrying case that most of us
carried at that time, pulled out a pad of paper, wrote
on it "Admit William B. Goddard and Sergeant Edwin H.
Carpenter," signed it "William B. Goddard, Lieutenant
Colonel such and such," and handed it to the guard. And
the guard was satisfied and let us in. He told us that
Lieutenant Rorimer was there in the building.
You drive into an open courtyard, and most of the
building soars above you from this courtyard, as you know
from pictures or perhaps being there. It's very tall,
built in a very soaring effect, in spires and all that sort
of thing. It's mid-nineteenth century; it isn't old. It's
sort of Wagner's music put into stone, which is what it was
supposed to be, the effect that Ludwig was trying to get.
But then there are also rooms below which are virtually
vaults of one sort or another. The guard told us that
Lieutenant Rorimer was down in the vaults, which had been
used for storage for Renaissance jewelry or something like
that. Well, I don't know whether it was because he wasn't
interested in the jewelry or because he thought it was just
as well not to tangle with Lieutenant Rorimer (not that
they would have tangled) , but Colonel Goddard said we
wouldn't bother him.
Along the side of this open courtyard, there's a
staircase. There was a German family living in the
building as caretakers of some sort or another. I can't
remember, but I think it was a teenage girl or some member
of the family who came out and showed us through the place.
To tell you the truth, I don't remember it in great
detail. Of course, she took us only through the state
apartments, things a tourist would ordinarily see. But I
do remember that there were several large rooms, one after
another, and one room would be full of Louis Quinze chaises
longues and the next room would be full of Louis Seize
escritoires and something like that. It was just jammed full
of French [furniture], I suppose all good stuff. I wasn't
familiar enough to know.
AXE: Do you think it was looted?
CARPENTER: Oh, yes, it was all stuff that they had taken
from. . .
AXE: ...probably from the Louvre or someplace.
CARPENTER: Well, I don't think that the Germans actually
took so much from the Louvre itself, but from private
collections, particularly of Jewish owners and that sort
of thing. There were many private collections of which
they had taken, I guess, the whole thing or the better
pieces. As you know, there was a tremendous program after
the war trying to sort these things out and return them.
Fortunately for the people who were doing that, the
Germans were such meticulous record-keepers that even
when they looted they kept a very careful record of where
each piece came from and so forth.
The throne room was empty; there was nothing in that.
It hadn't been used for storage. It's very striking in
a gaudy sort of way. It has these columns that are, if
I remember, several different kinds of marble. Then,
just in case that wasn't elegant enough, [at] two or three
spots around each column — a third of the way up, and in
the middle, and two-thirds of the way up, or something like
that--there would be an added band of metal. I don't know
whether it was really gold or not, but [it was] a golden-
like metal with jewels in it. Then there was the very
elaborate throne. It isn't a tremendous room as throne
rooms go, because this was not where he expected to enter-
tain large numbers of people. This was sort of a hideaway,
so it was not done on a tremendous scale. But it was a
I don't remember whether they were mosaics or murals,
[but] I think they were murals which--I don't know whether
Ludwig himself specified this or some tactful courtier
dreamed it up--portrayed kings who were also saints: Saint
Louis of France, and, I think, some of the Hungarian kings
who have been canonized. So around this throne room--I
remember, they were pretty well up, sort of a Sistine
Chapel ceiling effect, something like that — were these
paintings of kings who were also saints.
The swan is part, or maybe all, of the crest of that
particular family. The older family castle nearby, somewhat
lower down in elevation and more or less on a lake, is
known as Hohenschwangau . This, of course, is Neuschwanstein,
and you have this swan motif worked in wherever possible
all through the place. Many, if not all, of the door
handles were shaped like swans. The handles and spigots
on washbasins and plumbing fixtures and things like that
were shaped like swans. So it was quite a striking place
to see, especially under rather interesting circumstances,
when it was not available. Later, after the looted art
was taken out, it was opened again; but at that time, it
was very tightly controlled and closed.
AXE: Were you the one who was telling me about the
Tischlein deck dich ?
CARPENTER: Yes. I didn't know that word, but I mentioned
that this, [while] not exactly a hideaway, wasn't supposed
to be for entertaining on a stupendous scale. Of course,
some places were. Ludwig had a palace, and I think you
told me I pronounced it wrong. Was it something like
CARPENTER: Now I'm not sure whether this is one of these
palaces that's actually literally larger than Versailles,
but it's that sort. It's perfectly stupendous. It's on
an island in a lake.
CARPENTER: I never saw that one, but he did have that one
which was for the stupendous goings-on. At Neuschwanstein
it would have been possible to entertain quite a group of
people there or have quite an event or something like that.
But the one that really was his hideaway was this
place called Linderhof. It was someplace near Ettal, if
I remember--a few miles west of Ettal. It was very striking
because it's a little bijou of architecture. It's not much
bigger than an ordinary American two-story house. There
may have been a story below ground, [a] basement level;
but as you approach, it's a two-story house done in sort
of royal chateau style. It's set in the bottom of a rather
narrow, steep-sided valley, vaguely like Yosemite. So it's
very striking having this little jewel-like structure in
the middle of such a striking geological and natural forma-
tion, with a tremendous number of trees around and that
sort of thing. It has a rather attractive fountain playing
in front as one drives up.
On the second floor, it had a suite of rooms for the
king, which had a bedroom, a throne room, a dining room,
and sort of an office. There may have been one or two more
rooms; I don't remember for sure. The throne room--I
suppose you would call it that because it had a throne
in it--wasn't set up for any public event of any scale
because it wouldn't be big enough to hold more than a
dozen people or so. It was a very small room, but it did
have a very elaborate throne set up with a canopy. I
can't remember whether it was peacock feathers or some-
thing that was quite a feature of that one. One room had
innumerable little brackets on the walls and on them were,
or were supposed to be, little china porcelain figurines
which were from the Nymphenburg and other of the royal
German potteries. Unfortunately, some on the lower, more
accessible shelves I think had been lifted by GIs who'd
gotten in there earlier. Quite a few of the brackets
were empty. But there were a good many of that sort of
thing. Then there was sort of an office with an actual
working desk (it was a very elaborate piece of furniture,
but it was set up as an office with a desk where he could
work) , and [there was] a bedroom.
The dining room had this feature [the Tischlein
deck dich] so that the monarch could be completely alone
and not even have to have servants waiting on him at a
meal. A trap door or a large portion of the floor of the
dining room would lower to the floor below, and the table
could be completely set with the food and everything. Then
it could be put back into position and some signal given
whereby he could enter this dining room and find his meal
all ready for him--but be completely alone as he ate it.
without even having someone there to pass him the food.
It had that sort of effect.
So this Linderhof was where he went when he really-
wanted to be alone. It sounds inglorious to say "back-
yard," but behind it there was an artifical underground
grotto in which, I understand, Ludwig died. He was
drowned. It was set up, I suppose, to portray — I don't
know my opera well enough--a scene in one of Wagner's
opera where the swan comes along and....
AXE: Lohengrin .
CARPENTER: I guess. Lohengrin gets aboard, as it were,
and is carried off on this swan. There was water in this
underground grotto, some sort of pond or stream effect,
and it was fixed up for staging things. I believe the
usual feeling is that Ludwig committed suicide, but I'm
not sure on that.
AXE: I'm going to read this book. I have it right here.
Do you read enough German that you could...?
CARPENTER: No, no. For practical purposes I don't read
German at all. I have only title-page German.
AXE: By the way, were there any books in any of these
castles at the time?
CARPENTER: Not that I saw. There might very well have been
a library at Neuschwanstein into which the guide didn't
take us. I suspect there may not have been [one] at
Linderhof, other than perhaps a few reference books in
connection with the office, or something like that.
No, I don't remember seeing much in the way of
libraries or books when we were in Germany, except the
university library itself in Heidelberg, which I went into
various times. Of course, it was not really functioning
at the time, but it was fortunately protected, you know.
I don't know whether there really was an agreement between
the Germans and the British that neither Heidelberg nor
Oxford would be bombed, but neither one was. So, except
for some bridges being blown, Heidelberg was not damaged
AXE: How long were you there?
CARPENTER: Well, I can't remember now. It was in effect
one summer, but I don't remember whether it was May or
June when we got there, and I don't remember whether it
was September or October when we left. But we did spend
one summer in Heidelberg, which gave us a chance to fan
out considerably. If you did have a day off and a vehicle
available, of course, it was possible to go quite some
distance. With a hard day's drive you could even go as
far as Strasbourg. A couple of the fellows who were rather
addicted to France and things French and that sort of thing
sometimes used to head in that direction. I went from
there one time, not up to Berchtesgaden itself, but up
to that vicinity and then on to Salzburg, and spent part
of a day in Salzburg. At that time my old division head-
quarters was located in a palace not very far out of
Salzburg, the name of which I can't remember now [Schloss
Klessheim] . I didn't see anywhere near as much of Salzburg
as I would have liked to.
AXE: Probably rained.
CARPENTER: Yes, I think it was raining, but I did have
a very nice day that day. As for rain, another day one
of the other fellov7S and I went out in a vehicle without
a top. It was pouring rain and anybody that wasn't a
lunatic wouldn't have done this, but he knew that I was
particularly anxious to do it, so we went to Wiirzburg.
There had been a fellow [John Skilton] , who was an enlisted
man in the monuments and fine-arts section of the Seventh
Army at one time, whom I had known. He was commissioned
and was now a second lieutenant and the monuments and fine-
arts officer for VJiirzburg. So we went around to see him.
There is a quite important palace there known as the
AXE: Where the bishop lived, wasn't it?
CARPENTER: Yes. That was one of these cases where they
had cardinal-archbishops, or the prince-archbishops or
something, because the ecclesiastical authority and the
governmental authority were vested in the same hands a
good deal of the time. It had been damaged quite a little
bit by bombs. One of the main features of this Residenz
was the great tremendous stairwell, the great Treppenhaus,
[with] ceilings by Tiepolo, which were not damaged by the
bombing. They may have been a little shaken, but they
weren't directly damaged. The roof above them had been
somewhat damaged and Skilton was very much concerned about
this. Ke himself, I guess, practically single-handed, had
been up there spreading tarpaulins and things like that
above this spot so that the rain would not get down into
them. As far as I know, he successfully protected them.
Then, I can't remember, there's a special name for it, but
there's also a Schloss [Marienberg] of some sort on a hill
commanding the city, and we went up there. I remember
going to that as well, so that was quite a nice day.
Then another day I went to Munich. Munich was sup-
posed to be off limits to us; General Patton was not very
cooperative with even his own armies. That was Third Army
territory and was supposed to be off limits to Seventh
Army personnel. Usually if we were in Munich, we were just
going through on the way to someplace else. I didn't
really see much of the treasures or the things that were
to be seen in Munich itself.
Another occasion was a two-day trip, and this was
a duty — we were sent on this. One of the other fellows
and I went back to France to get wine. We had a jeep
and a trailer, and we went back to Strasbourg. The
colonel or somebody had already made some arrangements.
We didn't have to scrounge around the markets buying it.
The army controlled some stock of some sort, and we had
orders that enabled us to pick up so many cases, or so
many bottles, or whatever it was, which we brought back.
AXE: How amazing. Instead of Rhine wine or something,
to go back to France, they had a predilection....
CARPENTER: Well, Strasbourg is on the Rhine, and I think
some of the wines that are called Rhine wines actually
come from quite close to there. I don't remember whether
it was a particular stock we got that time, but we used
to get Liebf raumilch.
AXE: Ed, were the bookstores functioning then?
CARPENTER: I was in Paris immediately after [the] war
for a while, and there were a great many functioning in
Paris then. But generally speaking, I think no. I didn't
really get into any antiquarian bookstores, I think, until
I went to Paris. Now, of course, in almost any place,
especially the larger cities, there would be the sort of
stationery stores that would have some paperback novels
and things like that. Sometimes, of course, they had a
little more than that. I remember buying a rather substan-
tial volume on the history of Lorraine. I don't know
whether that was in Strasbourg or where it was, but [it
was] in one of the towns where we were.
We were stationed for a while near Nancy, [at] Epinal
where there was a chateau of Stanislas [Leszcznski] , the
king of Poland who was the father-in-law of one of the
French kings [Louis XV] . When he was dispossessed of the
Polish throne, he had to be given something, and he became
the duke of Lorraine. So in Epinal there was [a] chateau
that had been Stanislas's. Then, of course, there were
the others in Nancy. I forget the name of the place in
Nancy, but it's a very attractive complex, including a
much earlier palace or family home which was a museum
but [which] was closed. However, with a package of
cigarettes we bribed our way in, and the attendant showed
us some of the collections in the museum there.
AXE: I always found it very strange that there were no
books ever in evidence in any of these when I went through,
and you found none either.
CARPENTER: Well, of course, in the European countries —
and in Mexico, too — a lot of the antiquarian bookstores
are not the way we think of them. If we go into an anti-
quarian bookstore here, there are usually large expanses of
shelf or tabletops where you can browse and find things.
The prices are marked, and you know what they are. If you
want to purchase them, fine. But in many of those places,
there's sort of a counter, and you don't really actually
manage to get into the place. You have to ask specifically
for what you want, and then they produce it from behind the
AXE: Well, I meant even in the palaces, though.
CARPENTER: Oh, yes, yes.
AXE: No books, no libraries.
CARPENTER: I didn't actually see them, but of course
there are many libraries in some of the convents and
cloisters. I've seen a good many pictures, of course;
many of them are quite striking. There was a certain
style of architecture which one recognizes, I guess, as
part of the German baroque or something, where you have
these two-story libraries with all sorts of bays full of
books and the balcony going around the room — often very
As a matter of fact, I think the reference reading
room at the Huntington Library is modeled on that sort of
thing to a certain extent. Of course, it's not the
slightest bit baroque; it's very simple. It's a two-
story room with the balcony going around and shelving
on the upper level as well, a room I've always liked
very much. . . .
AXE: What was the Moroccan incident? I've forgotten
that... and I'm sure you've told me.
CARPENTER: The one that involved books and bookstores and
things like that is how I got to know Gerald McDonald.
We were stationed for a while right in Rabat, and then
later on the outskirts of another, more modern town which
didn't have a Moslem backround. Port Lyautey, which was
developed by the French as a port.
One day I went into town and there was a little
bookstore. I don't remember what else I bought, maybe
nothing else, but I remember I bought a history of
Moroccan literature in French, which I could read. (I
don't read Arabic or Berber--! don't know whether Berber
even exists in printed form or not, but Arabic does--
but I can read French; so I bought this anthology of
Moroccan literature in French.) I had part of the after-
noon off and then I was back at my office, which in those
days was a blackout tent. We did have a few extra facili-
ties, wooden floors built in them, and we had an electric
light; but it was basically just a blackout tent.
It turned out that that evening, there was something
quite important to do, and I had to stay and work late,
along with the boss. He had to get in a report or document
of some sort or other. It was fairly long and secret in
some way and had to be transmitted in code. We finished
it at eleven o'clock at night or something like that.
I guess he was writing it and I was typing it. The officers'
billets lay in one direction and the enlisted men's in
the other; and, as it happened, the message center where
one would take something like this to deposit it for trans-
mission was in the direction of the enlisted men's billets.
So he said, "As you go back to your tent, will you take
this and turn it in to the message center?" And I said,
So I went to the message center, which was two blackout
tents end-to-end. They had lights inside, but there was
not a light outside. When you have the two tents end-to-end,
it isn't a matter of inner and outer, but one was the inner
and one was the outer room. The inner room was the code
room which, of course, was supposed to be entered only
by authorized personnel. The outer room was the message
center, which, in military usage, is equivalent to the
post office and the express company and everything else.
That's where all sorts of mail and packages and things
are sent back and forth.
A vehicle had just arrived from one of our regiments
to pick up and unload mail. All of this involves a great
deal of signing for all sorts of things, and at this time
of night the message center was operating on a skeleton
crew anyhow. So I came into the outer, official public
part of the message center just after the personnel had
arrived from the regiment with all this business to do and
the man [who] was on duty realized that he would be very
involved for quite a while. He asked me what I wanted,
and I said that I had a message to be encoded or something
like that. And he said, "Well, it will be an awful time
before I can get to it. Why don't you take it right into
the code room yourself ?"--which was not quite according
to the rules, but this was all right with me.
So I pushed aside the flap and went in. Here was a
field desk set up with various encoding machinery and
different things, I don't know what all. I didn't look
around too closely. There was a soldier on duty sitting
there. Ke wasn't doing anything at the moment. He was
the night man. He didn't have any particular task, I
guess, and he was sitting there reading. He looked a
little surprised when I came in--because, of course, I
was not one of the authorized personnel — but I said that
the man outside suggested that since he's so much occupied
that I bring this directly in. So he put down his book,
and, as people often do, he turned it open and face down
on the table, which exposed the cover and the spine of it.
I looked at it, and I saw that it was this same anthology
of Moroccan literature of which I had bought a copy that
afternoon. So after he took the message and put it wherever
he was going to put it, I said, "I've just bought a copy
of that this afternoon, but I haven't had a chance to read
any of it yet. Is it interesting?"--or something like that.
He said, "Oh, yes." And then [we] got started talking.
His name was Gerald McDonald, and he had been for
several years a staff member at the New York Public Library.
Later, I guess immediately after the war, he was the head
of the rare-book room, and then the head of local history
and genealogy and American history, and at one time the
acting head of manuscripts. Just before his unfortunate
death a couple of years ago, he was in charge of a combined
special-collections department where they combined several
of their very important collections. So he had very
responsible positions both before and after the war at
the New York Public Library. I was apparently the first
GI he had encountered who could talk books with him.
AXE: Was he a GI?
CARPENTER: Oh, yes. Yes, surely. I think he was a
corporal at the time, something like that. He was a
cryptographer, you see. He'd been in the service some
little time, as had I, but I was the first one he'd encoun-
tered that knew anything about libraries or books or some-
thing like that. So we got to talking, and I think it
was three or four o'clock in the morning before I finally
left--the message meanwhile not having been encoded and
sent, but that's all right. We had a wonderful talk.
He was not a member of the same outfit I was. I was
in the headquarters company of the Third Infantry Division
and he was in the Third Signal Company. The signal company,
except for some of the men who were out ahead stringing
telephone wires and things, almost always traveled with
the division headquarters; and there would be various
periods when the messes were combined, so I had plenty of
opportunity to see him. Later, in Italy, he was trans-
ferred in one direction and I was transferred in another;
but until that time, we saw a great deal of each other
and developed a very close friendship, which was increased
after the war when I went to New York to work. And we were
very close friends up until the time of his death.
So that was how one particular book brought a contact
to me which meant a great deal to me, at the time and
especially later. The whole business of things that
happened in Morocco is a whole other story, too, and I
don't think I'll get into that tonight.
AXE: I know there was something about a couple of....
CARPENTER: Yes, a young French couple that I got to know
there, the Guillens. But, as I say, I don't think I will
go off onto that.
NOVEMBER 7, 1971
AXE: Where did you meet the Guillons?
CARPENTER: I met them on the top of Plassan's Tower, which
is a quite interesting old building in Rabat, in French
Morocco, I don't remember the height of it, but it's quite
sizable. I believe it's supposed to be unf inished--the
top is not completed — but it's a very substantial square
tower, rises the equivalent of three or four stories, and
does not have any steps inside. It has a ramp that leads
to the top, and the story they tell is that it was a ramp
so that the sultan could ride his horse to the top of the
tower rather than walking up. It's a tourist attraction,
both in itself as, I believe, a fourteenth-century building,
and also as a very good viewpoint from which to see Rabat
and Sale and the surrounding countryside.
I went up there on more than one occasion. One time
I was with an army friend of mine. Marc Woodward. I think
it was a Sunday afternoon, and we had gone up Hassan's
Tower and were looking over the city. I was trying to
pick out some old building or monument in the native
quarter, so we were speaking of this. There was a young
French couple standing nearby, and finally — I don't remember
in detail--the husband, I think, said to us in very good
English, "If you're looking for such and such, why, that's
it over there, the low building with the such and such
roof/" and so forth.
We got to talking with both of them, Claude and Marie-
Louise Guillon. They both spoke English very well. As a
matter of fact, he had been a liaison interpreter from
the French army to the British army in France in 19 4 and
had gone through Dunkirk with the British unit to which he
was attached. I'll get to his story in a moment. As I
say, they both spoke English quite well and were very
pleasant, and Marc and I caught each other's eye. And
just as plainly as if one of us had spoken it aloud, we
said to each other, "We can't let these people get away."
So we all walked down together. I don't remember, but I
think we walked towards the Residency, the palace of the
governor general, and had quite a nice talk. Then, if I
remember correctly, she suggested that we come to their
apartment for tea. I think we did so on that initial
occasion; certainly we did many other times, for meals
They had an apartment right in downtown Rabat. Although
they were both genuine French from the heart of France
itself, they were not quite typical, because he, certainly,
and I think she, was a great winter-sports enthusiast —
skiers and so forth. He used to ski a great deal; and
being a young man of some means before the war, he had
skied all over Europe, all the skiing spots there. In
connection with that, both of them, for instance, liked
things like raw carrots and other things of that nature
that one doesn't ordinarily think of the French as eating.
At their home, one would have hors d'oeuvres consisting
of, among other things, raw carrots and celery — things,
as I say, that one doesn't think of as typically French.
He had traveled a great deal, and so had she. She
had been a representative of a Paris couturier — I don't
remember which one — and traveled in the colonies for this
fashion house, selling their line. She had been traveling
in Morocco, out more or less in the desert outposts of the
French army, where there were French army officers' wives,
at the time of the fall of France. That was how she hap-
pened to be in Morocco: she had gotten caught there and
wasn't able to go home to France.
He had been in the French army with the British
army, had gone through Dunkirk and gotten into England.
Well, the English, obviously, at that time had plenty
on their minds and plenty of mouths to feed without worry-
ing about an extra Frenchman and others like that. So they
shipped a good many of the Frenchmen off to Morocco. I
don't know whether [it was] officially or not, but in effect
he was out of the French army by then, back in civilian
clothes, and was not functioning in the French army,
certainly, when he was in Morocco.
He did go back in later, not long after Marc and I
and our outfit left Morocco. He went back into the French
army and was with the French army in Italy. He looked me
up there once, although we didn't happen to be very conven-
ient — we weren't in the same area very much — and then later,
in France. When I was in Paris just after the war, he had
not yet gotten home from the military service. He returned
while I was there, and I saw both Claude and Marie-Louise
in Paris after the war.
We enjoyed going to their apartment. Of course, we
would snitch a little food from the mess here and there
to take with us. They may not have been quite typically
French in all respects, but they were in one respect: and
that is, they just could not comprehend the peanut butter
that we brought them. They couldn't seem to imagine any-
body wanting to eat peanut butter. So we learned to bring
them other things instead. They had a friend to whom they
introduced us, a young man, who was there occasionally
when we were visiting them. [He] was half-French and
half- Japanese; and because the Japanese at this time were
officially our enemies, the Counter Intelligence Corps
(the CIC) , I think it was called, in the army had its eye
on him as a potential threat. As far as I could see, he
wasn't any threat at all. I don't remember what he did.
He spoke very good English also. His was more an
American English than theirs, perhaps. He claimed to have
learned his entirely from the talking movies. I guess
both Claude and Marie-Louise had studied it in school and
then talked with English-speaking people in their travels
and so forth. I don't remember whether or not, except for
his military time, they had been in England themselves,
traveled there and visited there.
During the time that we were stationed in Rabat, I
saw a good deal of the Guillens. On one occasion, they
took us to meet an Arab friend of theirs. They knew an
Arab family who lived in the native quarter. There were
two young men in the family, an uncle and nephew who were
almost exactly of an age. The nephew, though it wasn't
that he was more Europeanized, didn't live in the native
quarter. He was a librarian at the National Library of
Morocco and lived somewhere near the library, which was,
of course, out in the governmental part of town. His name
was Larbi Bou Helal. His uncle Taibi Bou Helal was, I
believe, officially the head of the family, being the
oldest male in the line of descent or something like that.
He [Taibi] was the sort who perhaps would not ordin-
arily have come into contact with the American soldiers
there. In talking with them [the Guillens] , he had said
that he would rather enjoy meeting one or two if they
were the sort who could, as it were, speak his language,
you know, who were more or less on a plane with him in
education and background and so forth, not just some ordin-
ary GI . So they suggested that they bring Marc and me to
Well, in those days the native quarter v/as off limits.
But both of us working in the headquarters knew the provost
marshal perfectly well, and we got passes. Practically
everybody else in the headquarters could get passes to the
native quarter if he wanted them; there wasn't really much
trouble about that. So we got permission to go to the
native quarter. I guess it was on a Sunday, although I
don't remeii±)er. We went with Marie-Louise and Claude,
first to Taibi Bou Helal's office.
The family had a carpet manufacturing business or
something of that nature. It's all hand manufactured, and
there was a plant where the weaving was done; and then
adjoining it, there were various rooms that I suppose were
offices, accounting and things like that. He had a rather
plainly furnished room, and we were shown in there. He
was sitting at a desk at one end of the room, which was
fairly large and not very full of things. We walked across
the room, and he got up, and we were introduced to him.
He spoke excellent English and said that he was delighted to
meet us for no other reason than he was hoping that maybe
we could get him some newer New Yorker s than the one he had.
The outbreak of the war had cut off his supply of New
Yorker s, and all that he had were a couple of years old.
He had some of them on his desk there. He had been, I
guess, a fairly regular reader of the New Yorker . In the
course of time, we were able to get him several American
magazines of one sort or another.
We had a nice visit with him. He showed us the
workmen at work making the rugs. I say weaving, but it
wasn't, as I remember, a loom setup so much as what we
would call knotting and tying or something like that.
At any rate, they were at work on these native-style rugs.
And then we all walked to his house, which was not far
away — again, as I say, within the native quarter. I don't
remember now whether he had a key or whether there was some
servant who opened the door when he approached. At any
rate, the door was opened; and as he stepped over the
threshold, he called out something in Arabic--which, I
gather, was sort of a warning or announcement to the women
of the household that men were coming in. There was some
scampering of feet and things like that, and the women
disappeared. During the time we were there, we could some-
times see eyes peeking at us through doorways and internal
windows and things like that.
Then we went to a room in the house and had sort of
a high tea. As you know, they have this Arabic tea which
is very sweet and very heavily flavored of mint. I don't
remember the situation a great deal. It was a rather long
and narrow room, and I think there was sort of a built-in
bench around most of the wall. And then on this there
were huge cushions and pillows and poufs and things like
that, mostly covered with native materials of one sort
or another, on which we sat. I don't remember now whether
[it was thus] in that room or not, but in some of the rooms
I was in in Morocco, one of the prominent features at one
end of the room v/ould be a very large and elaborate brass
bedstead. I guess they were late Victorian or maybe
French Second Empire brass beds with six or seven or eight
mattresses on them. The mattresses were piled very high,
so that if they were actually going to be used as a bed you
would have to do quite a little climbing to get into them.
As I remember, there were one or two other occasions
when we saw Ta'ibi Bou Helal. On one occasion I do remember,
he came to the Guillens when we were there. I think it
was that occasion when Marc and he and I left the Guillens'
apartment together. Ultimately we had to part, going in
different directions, but for a ways our paths led along the
same streets through Rabat. Well, he wore — I think the name
is a caftan--a native garb that reaches from the neck to the
ankles, a very simple sort of thing. One could see his
feet, of course, both when he had been sitting in the room
and also on the street; [and] I can't remember whether
they were saddle oxfords, but they were Western-style
shoes of some sort or other. And although a good Moslem
shouldn't smoke, he did. He wanted a cigaret while we
were walking down the street, so he stopped and reached
down, grabbed the hem of his outer garment, and hoisted
it up like a skirt. And underneath he had--I don't know
whether they were really plus fours, but they were a pair
of European-style trousers. He reached in the pocket of
them, and took out a packet of cigarets and a packet of
matches, and let the caftan skirt drop again; and there he
was the complete native once more.
AXE: Did you ever go to the library with...?
CARPENTER: Not with him, but with his nephew, Larbi Bou
Helal. I don't know whether Marc did, but I remember going.
We also went on one occasion to Larbi Bou Kelal's home,
which, as I say, was not in the native quarter but was in
somewhat native style. His was certainly one of the rooms —
I suppose you'd call it a living room or a drawing room —
in which there was this tremendous brass bed. I don't know
whether that actually was the sleeping bed for the gentleman
of the house and his wife or not. Also in that room, he
had a fairly large--not really a safe but a locked metal
cabinet more or less of the nature of a safe. He opened
that up to show us, and he had a lot of first editions of
French authors. Flaubert, or someone like that, he collected
particularly. He had his personal collection in there.
Whether Marc was along, I don't recall; but I also
remember going to the National Library to visit him, and
he showed me around there. It's a comparatively small
library, but strong at least on their own arts and crafts
and history of their own country.
AXE: Is it [strong] in government documents and that
sort of thing?
CARPENTER: I think so, but I don't remember too clearly,
I must admit. Which reminds me also, speaking of going to
places like this: I also used to go to the Museum of
Antiquities that they had there and got to know a couple
of the members of the staff there fairly well. On one
occasion--! don't remember whether I stumbled on it or
whether I had seen an announcement of it--there was a
gallery talk by the curator. The staff was small; it was
not a large museum. This was, of course, in my very earliest
days in a French-speaking country, and I was not very sure
of my French; but I found that I was able to follow quite
well. He was speaking about prehistory. It was in the
gallery of the prehistoric stone tools of Morocco, and
so there was some of the terminology with which I was
not familiar. But I think I followed the lecture pretty
That was a Monsieur [Armand] Ruhlmann. If I remember
correctly, he was killed in an automobile accident a few
months after I left Morocco. He had an assistant who was
French. I think Ruhlmann was French, too, but perhaps
Alsatian or something like that, where he'd gotten this
AXE: Were you stationed there?
CARPENTER: Yes, you see, we landed at a small town called
Fedala, and we spent a night or two there. The division
headquarters was set up in Fedala in the casino — which, is
a very elegant word, because it was just a small wooden
building, but it had been the casino of the town. Then,
in a day or so, we moved into Casablanca and had our head-
quarters in Casablanca for a few days. I don't remember
just how long; it may have been as long as a couple of
weeks. (I could verify these dates; I've got the records
someplace.) We took over the hotel and a couple of villas
near the hotel in Casablanca and used those as the head-
quarters. Then, in a week or two, the division was scat-
tered pretty widely through the countryside nearby. There^s
a big forest of cork oak there. Quite a little of the
division was dispersed in camps in the oak forest.
The division headquarters moved from Casablanca to
Rabat, and for some little time--I suppose a month or maybe
a couple of months--we were stationed in Rabat. We took
over at least three buildings that I can remember: one
hotel for the officers, one hotel for the enlisted men, and
a building, which I think had been the chamber of commerce,
for offices. So we were there in Rabat for some little
time, which, as I say, gave us a chance to visit the
museums and get to know people like the Guillens and Bou
Unfortunately, I never got across the river to Sale,
the older native town, which is much less Europeanized than
Rabat. Rabat is mostly a European city built around the
outside of a native quarter. In the native quarter, there
was a museum of native arts and crafts which I enjoyed
visiting and which I went to various times. I guess the
Guillens took me there in the first place. Unfortunately,
a lot of its better stuff had been put in storage for
safety during the war, so they didn't have a great deal
out on display. But what they had, I enjoyed seeing.
They had a gallery, really sort of a covered corridor,
which on one side was open to a courtyard and on the other
side led into galleries, enclosed rooms. It was sheltered
and protected enough so some materials of less importance
and more durability could be out there. Hanging on the
walls, they had pieces of carved woodwork of one sort or
another. I suppose some of them might have been a side
of a chest or something — different things on which there
had been elaborate wood carving. Obviously, Morocco
having quite a seacoast, there have been over the years
many, many shipwrecks and things like that, or captured
ships. It was a piracy center at one time, too. So it's
not surprising that they should have pieces of carved wood
that had come from ships .
I got a very considerable of a turn one day when
sauntering in this gallery and looking idly at some of
these pieces. One of them, fairly well up on the wall,
was an elaborately carved piece of wood, and it had sort
of a ribbon with an inscription in it. Since I don't
read Arabic, I usually didn't even bother to try and look
at inscriptions, but for some reason or other I looked
at this. What it said was, "Erin Go Bragh." Then I
discovered that the woodwork around it had shamrocks and
harps and things like this. It was broken somewhat on the
edges and must have been part of some sort of a carved
superstructure, or something like that, from an Irish
vessel that had come to grief on the coasts somewhere along
AXE: Were there bookstores there?
CARPENTER: Well, to tell you the truth, I don't remember
so much about bookstores in Rabat itself. I mentioned,
I think, the last time I was here, buying a book in Port
Lyautey that led me to the contact with Gerald. So I do
remember going into a bookstore there, and that was sort
of a glorified stationery store. Well, I do remember
there was one bookstore to which I went in Rabat that I
can recall. As a matter of fact, I bought a manuscript
there. I found a vellum-bound volume of some sort of
accounts of a taxing agency in seventeenth-century France,
someplace in continental France, at a comparatively modest
figure. It isn't a highly significant document; but at
that time I don't know that I even possessed a manuscript
or anything, so I purchased that.
AXE: Do you still have it?
CARPENTER: Yes. I really ought to give it to someplace
where it would be more appropriate. Probably it should
go back to the part of France from which it came.
There was also a shop I do remember going into quite
often in Rabat which sold small antiquities, odds and ends
of textiles and chinaware and wrought ironwork and all
sorts of things like that. I bought an iron door-knocker
and several pieces of textiles. I formed a little collection
of six or eight pieces. There are representative forms
of embroidery from the different cities of Morocco, so
I got one typical of Fez and one typical of Meknes , at
least according to them. I don't have to take their word
for it entirely, because I also eventually picked up a
book on Moroccan weaving and embroidery. And from the
plates one can say that this is of this style or that
AXE: And do you still have all that?
CARPENTER: Yes, I still have all of those, too.
AXE: Oh, how interesting.
CARPENTER: Wherever I went — this was the first place I
was overseas so that it hadn't developed yet — in the course
of my time overseas, I tried to get a guidebook to the
local country. One of the principal guides to Morocco
is a Guide Bleu . There's a French series called L£ Guide
Bleu , and there is one of them to Morocco, but it had
long been out of print even before the war and it wasn't
easy to find.
When the headquarters moved into Casablanca we took
over a couple of villas. One of them was known as the Villa
Knafou, and it had belonged to a prominent, I guess, Jewish
family, which is why the Germans and the Italians had
requisitioned it. [They were] newspaper publishers, I
believe. This particular villa, which was the lesser of
the two we were occupying, had been used by the Italian
armistice commission in Morocco, who had left rather
suddenly when we arrived; the house was full of all sorts
of things. There were some of the records of this commission.
I remember some of the personal records of the colonel
who was in charge of it, some of his report cards from his
firing tests. (He was an air corps colonel, apparently,
and they have these tests shooting at a target from a
machine gun, I suppose, in a plane or something like that;
and photo records of some of his flights and things like
that were there.) There were a bunch of snapshots of one
sort or another.
That's where I got a very nice little library on
Morocco, because they had a cultural attache and there
were a good many books in his office. Several GIs got
into the villa about the same time, and a lot of them
grabbed typewriters. I don't remember whether there
were any Italian weapons there when we came in or not,
but if there were, somebody else got them very promptly.
of course. The CIC got in there very early and went
through to see if there was anything they needed for
intelligence purposes. But none of the GIs who got there
ahead of me or at the same time that I did cared anything
about the books, so I just calmly annexed twenty or more
volumes on Moroccan art and architecture and history that
this cultural attache had gathered.
AXE: Do you still have those?
CARPENTER: Yes, I still have all of those, too. One of
them was a Guide Bleu to Morocco, which, as I say, was a
nice item because it was out of print; and I was particularly
glad to have it. Well, it had been compiled by a man named
Prosper Ricard. And I don't know how I found this out,
but I discovered that, although a man well along in years,
he was still living and living in Rabat at the time. So
I went around to see him. I think I wrote and asked if
I might call, to which he said yes, and I went and had a
delightful visit with him.
As I say, he was quite an older man. He was very inter-
ested to find an American interested — not in his country
because he was French, although he had lived in Morocco
many, many years — in the country and his book and so forth.
He inscribed it very nicely for me. Of course, it was
fascinating for me to talk with him. As I remember, he did
not speak English; I think he spoke entirely in French.
Generally speaking — of course this is an oversimpli-
fication — the occupation or pacification of Morocco, at
least in modern times, v/as mostly under the direction of
Marshal [Louis H.G.] Lyautey, who was a French army commander
in the early years of this century. Lyautey was more than
a military administrator; he was officially a civil admin-
istrator, too. He undertook some civil functions, one of
which was to encourage native arts and crafts and try to
find markets for them and various things of that nature.
Monsieur Ricard talked about that. He had been associated
with Lyautey in the early days. I guess he had been sort
of a cultural attache or something like that.
There's a form of Moroccan outer garment known as a
djellaba, which is equivalent, I suppose, to an overcoat.
Although it may be of very good material, it's heavy and
substantially woven, very warm, and it has its own integral
hood which can be put over the head or thrown back. It's
full length and covers one completely as an outer garment.
While it certainly isn't intended to be a disguise, in an
sense it serves as one. To this extent: when somebody's
in a djellaba with the hood pulled down over his face, you
can't tell whether he's native or European, or even whether
it's male or female — practically nothing about the person
except his approximate height and possibly his approximate
bulk. In the room where he [M. Ricard] received me — his,
of course, was a completely European style house — I sat
on a chair which was wicker or something like that and had
thrown over it, as a cover, one of these djellabas. I
think there were a couple of others on other chairs in the
room and so forth. He mentioned some occasion on which he
and Marshal Lyautey had gone, more or less in disguise,
someplace to do something or other; they had worn these
djellabas to conceal their nationality and identity. He
said, "The one you're sitting on is the one the marshal
wore that night." So, of course, all this obviously is
the sort of thing that pleases me very greatly.
I was going to say another thing about shops and things
like that in Rabat. I don't think, really, it was the
Guillens who introduced us--I don't remember how we got to
know them--but Marc and I and some of the other soldiers
in the headquarters got to know other people in Rabat,
French people — couples and families and so forth. On
various occasions, we were in other homes. And two or
three times in the homes of people there I saw paintings,
and they were portrait heads. Although they were portraits
of an individual, the individual was not an important
person in himself. The idea was that they were native
types. It was to show both the costume and facial structure
of various native types.
I was very much taken with them — I like good portrait
heads anyhow--so I inquired; and these people told me that
it was a local artist, Louis Endres. [pronounced with a
heavy French accent] These people said that Endres was
an artist who lived in Rabat and painted these pictures —
which they obviously liked, because they had them.
One day, I was walking on the main street of Rabat,
which is called the Dar el Maghzen, and passed a florist
shop. In the window of the shop, as part of or behind a
floral arrangement, was one of these paintings. There was
a little sign that said that the painting was courtesy
of Monsieur Endres, and Monsieur Endres had his studio
upstairs. So I thought, "This is a wonderful chance."
I don't know that I had in the back of my mind that I
might be able to acquire one of his works, but I thought
at least I could meet him.
I went upstairs where it indicated and knocked at an
apartment studio sort of thing, and a native girl maid came
to the door. (In Morocco, they're called fatmas, which is,
of course, the name Fatima, the daughter of the Prophet.
[Her] name gets into all sorts of different things; one of
the good luck symbols is known as the "Hand of Fatima" and
so forth. I guess it's probably just a general word for
girl or something like that, because the girls that are
maids and things around the house are called fatmas.)
[She] certainly didn't speak English and perhaps didn't
even speak too much French. But it was apparent that I
was asking for Monsieur Endres, so she led me in and asked
me to wait a moment. She took me into a studio, and lying
all around were bits of native costume and native jewelry
and so forth. As he told me later, many of these people
would come into Rabat from the countryside, marketing or
to sell or something like that, but usually they didn't
come in any decent kind of native costume. He would engage
them to pose, but then he would have to dress them up in
the headgear or the jewelry or whatever it was that they
were to wear.
At any rate, here I was waiting in this empty studio
for a minute or two. Finally a door opened and a youngish-
middle-aged man came in. Holding out his hand, he said,
"Hi, I'm Louis Endres [pronounced in a distinct American
accent] from Cincinnati." It appears that he was an
American who had gone to Morocco well before the war,
he and his wife, just purely, I guess, as tourists or
travelers, and had been very much taken with the country,
and had stayed there. He had developed this specialty of
painting the native types. Incidentally, I never acquired
an Endres for myself.
I think this must have been not long before we left
Rabat, because I never saw him again. Perhaps if I had been
able to stay there some time and had further contact with
him, I might have been able to acquire if not one of the
oils at least a drawing or something like that, but I never
did. That was one of the delightful things.
It was very nice being in town, of course. Later we
were moved out into the countryside into the oak forest
ourselves also. This meant, for instance, that, if you
wanted to, instead of eating at the mess you could go to
a restaurant. Of course, in those days the eating places
in Morocco, and anyplace else affected by the war, were
rather short of rations; so they didn't have a wide selec-
tion of foods, and they didn't have a great quantity.
But it was a change from one's own mess.
There was a little French restaurant in town that
several of us used to go to quite often. It was very
small. It was sort of one of these "papa and mama" places-
the man and his wife were the cook and principal waiter or
waitress. There was also a hired waiter, who was a very
tall and cadaverous looking fellow who was addressed as
"Francois." The first visit or two, we made out all right
with him, ordering in French and so forth and perhaps a
little bit of conversation. Then something, I don't know
what brought it on, but all of a sudden it came out that
his name was really Francisco, and he was a Spaniard, a
refugee from Franco's Spain. When he found out a couple
of us could speak [some] Spanish, oh, boy! He was in
ecstasy. After that, we would have to speak Spanish or
try to speak Spanish with Francisco. We enjoyed going
to that restaurant. There was a hotel called the Hotel
Jour Hassan, and I remember we used to go occasionally
to the dining room there. As I say, it was very nice
being in the capital city because--not so much [because]
there were bookstores, as I've already mentioned — there
were stores of one sort of another, and artists' studios,
and people to meet and to visit. I did enjoy my stay
in Rabat very much. [tape recorder turned off]
AXE: You were going to tell about the Guillens and the
CARPENTER: Yes. The only thing further about the Guillens
and the book business was that even though I was in a head-
quarters and had much m.ore facilities for transportation
than the ordinary GI, nevertheless I couldn't carry very
much with me. So when we left Morocco, I left almost all
of the books that I had acquired there with the Guillens;
and in the course of time, they sent them home to ray
parents' address. As a gift, they sent me a different
book when I was in Italy. Of course, they also knew
other GIs and were able to get things mailed through the
army post offices and things like that. So eventually
they mailed to the United States for me all of the books
that I had acquired there.
As a matter of fact, among other things that we had
done was to visit a bookbinder in Rabat.
AXE: Oh, a Moroccan bindery.
CARPENTER: Yes, a Moroccan bindery. From having visited
this binder with me, they [the Guillens] knew which styles
of bindings I liked and that sort of thing. So when I got
home and went over the books that they had mailed here for
me, I found that they had taken two or three of them that
were paperbound and had had them bound in contemporary
Moroccan bindings, which are very nice. That was very nice
of them, of course.
The Prosper Ricard Guide Bleu to Morocco that I men-
tioned, I did keep with me. It's a small book. I don't
know whether I thought I might want it or just why I kept
it; but, anyway, I did keep it in my field desk. Later,
during the Italian campaign, we had a period when we were in
very heavy rains. It was a very difficult situation. Our
headquarters — we were in the field at the time--was usually
a sea of mud and all that sort of thing. Unfortunately
that book got a little mudstained. I managed to clean it
up pretty well, and I suppose that you can say that those
stains on it are legitimate war wounds. But of course,
I'm sorry that the book isn't in as good condition as it
was when I got it.
Of the ones that were sent home--I don't remember
whether this happened in Morocco or in the shipment home
in the hold of a ship or what--one or two of them got a
little mildew on the cover. Mother took them to the South-
west Museum. Dr. [Frederick Webb] Hodge was, as you know, a very
courteous and charming man, and very nice to Mother. I don't
know whether he himself or somebody on the staff took these
couple of books and dried them out and cleaned up the
mildewed portion pretty well. That was, of course, very
nice of the Southwest Museum to do for me in my absence.
So I still have all of those books at home. I've added
one or two or three, maybe, since the war, but I haven't
been actively collecting on Moroccan art.
AXE: The one the Guillons sent to you in Italy — was that
a special one?
CARPENTER: No. If I remember correctly, it was a novel
of Anatole France. Did he write one called Le Petit Pierre
or something like that? I believe that's what it is. One
thing that amused me is that a small piece is cut out of
the flyleaf. Apparently Marie-Louise wrote an inscription
in it to me and at the end wrote Rabat and such and such
a date, and the censor very carefully cut out Rabat.
AXE: Oh, that's very interesting.
CARPENTER: Of course, I don't know what good it did
as far as censorship is concerned. It wasn't concealing
anything from me. I knew where the donor was, and I
don't know what good it would have done enemy intelligence
to know that the book had been inscribed there long after
our outfit had left Rabat. It had no military connection.
But of course, the application of the censorship rules was
a little strange at times.
AXE: Do you still correspond with the Guillons?
CARPENTER: No. As I said, by the time I got to Paris to
go to school after the war, although [they were] still in
the army, they had returned to France. He was still in the
French army and was not in Paris. It must have been when
I first got to Paris. I think it was about late October
of 1945. She hadn't gotten there either, because I remember
going to visit Claude's father. He had given me his father's
The family was quite well-to-do. They had some sort
of a papal concession. Copyright is not the word I want
and monopoly isn't quite it, but they had more or less the
monopoly or patent or something on the production of a cer-
tain kind of ecclesiastical candle of some sort or other,
and this was quite lucrative. I think Claude's mother
probably was dead. I don't remember her at all. I know
that I didn't meet her, and I don't think she was around.
I think she must have been dead for some time. I went
out, I think it was to Neuilly, one of the suburbs of
Paris, and met the father, and spent an evening, and had
a nice visit with him.
Then somewhere later along the line, Marie-Louise
came back, and I saw her occasionally. I'm quite sure,
if I remember correctly, that before I left Paris, Claude
had returned, and I saw him once or twice. But I really
didn't keep up with them anywhere near as well as I should
have after the war. They had talked about, and I was hoping,
that perhaps they would come to this country and that I
might someday see them here. They wouldn't know my address
now. But I think I was still in touch with them at the time
I first went to work at the Huntington Library soon after
the war, so they might think of me in that connection and
might show up. I still hope — not exactly hope, but wouldn't
be surprised someday if they called me out to the front
office and here are Claude and Marie-Louise.
AXE: Are they contemporaries in age?
CARPENTER: Well, they're contemporaries of each other,
and I would say they were perhaps just a shade older than
I. I don't know,' they might be sixty now, something like
AXE: You said after [the war] you went to school. You
didn't go to school in Paris, did you?
CARPENTER: Oh, yes.
AXE: To the Sorbonne?
CARPENTER: Well, yes and no. As soon as the war was over,
as you may remember, there was a great rush to get the men
home and all that sort of thing. Of course, it wasn't
possible to ship everybody home simultaneously, either from
the point of view of transportation or from the military
situation. It had to be done gradually over an extended
period. So all sorts of things were done to amuse and
entertain and occupy the time of the men who were still
there, who had not yet returned home. Some of these things
had started before the end of the war, but there were
division newspapers and there were division football teams.
Different size units in the army had their papers, and their
sports events, and all sorts of things of that nature.
Then, also, there was a very big program. There
was a section of the supreme headquarters, I guess it was
of SHAEF [Supreme Headquarters of Allied Expeditionary
Forces] , called Information and Education, known as
I and E. It involved opportunities for the GIs who were
qualified to go to European universities, on all sorts of
levels. Of course, it was primarily for men who already
had enough education to get some advantage from it. If
it was a university in a non-English-speaking country,
to do anything on any sort of advanced level, you would
have to have some command of the language. It did include
universities in the British Isles, and men who didn't have
any foreign language could go there.
Also, in the universities in Italy and France, for
example, for the men who didn't know those languages, they
had a special program. These various universities and
schools, in cooperation with the American authorities,
would set up a program in which the men were supposed to
study the arts and culture and language of the country.
Of course, that was organized on--I don't mean it unkindly-
an elementary basis for the non-French- or non-Italian-
speaking person. For instance, in the case of France,
they would be taken on tours of the chateau country and
they would be given lectures, primarily in English. But
I think [there was] some attempt to give them at least
These programs were all sorts of things, practically
everything under the sun. You could almost have one
tailored to you if you asked for something special; it
wasn't necessarily the established academic universities.
I remember these things would come out in the form of what
we used to call "poop, " which was usually mimeographed
or printed or reproduced material information of one sort
or another, information bulletins and announcements and
so forth. There would be all sorts of these pieces of
poop circulating from higher headquarters that would say
"on such and such a date applications will be received
for so many openings in this and that." I can remember
one of them was a school in London, [or] someplace in
England, training for firemen. To qualify for that, you
already had to have been a fireman before you entered the
service. Then there was the royal dramatic school of art,
or something like that, [offering] courses in acting. I
know there was one fellow in our outfit who was interested
in acting who went off to that. Of course, [there were]
Oxford and Cambridge and all the rest of them, too, but
[in addition] there were these specialized schools. You
could, as I say, practically set up your own program. I
know one GI who made some arrangement to go to Paris and
study ballet which consisted entirely, as far as I could
see, of just attending all the performances of the ballet
he could get to, or something like that.
AXE: What was your special school?
CARPENTER: Well, I have always been interested in the
great English universities, and I thought it would be just
wonderful to have an opportunity to go to Oxford, even
for a brief period. These were set up on comparatively
brief periods, and in most cases there wouldn't be any
expectation that it would last as long as a school year.
Normally you would expect to be shipped home by then.
Incidentally, I'd better back up and say that the
reason I was able to be involved in it is that I had for-
feited my chance to go home. There was a point system,
which I won't go into now. You had a certain number of
points for each month overseas; and a certain number of
points for each battle star, which meant the number of
engagements in which your outfit had been engaged and
officially recognized; a number of points for each decora-
tion; and a number of points, I think, for each child you
had at home; and so forth and so on. I didn't come in on
that last category, but on the others I did. I'd been
overseas as long as anyone, had gone over in the initial
landings in North Africa. And although I had never fired
a shot in anger, my outfit had been in on so many battles
that I had a lot of battle stars. And I had, I guess,
one decoration or something.
At any rate, the end of the war, V-E Day, came in
Augsburg when I was in the historical section of Seventh
Army. I was one of, I think, six men in the army that had
the highest number of points. So I was eligible to return
immediately. As a matter of fact, they arranged for some
sort of plane, and they were going to fly home, with a great
flourish, immediately the six or eight men who had the
highest number of points. They got in touch with me to
say I could leave tomorrow or whatever it was, something
like that — it was all in a big rush — and I said that I
didn't want to go. This created quite a stir in the
historical section. One of the other men in the section
was so mad at me, he wouldn't speak to me for some days.
Then it occurred to him that if I didn't go, he would
go one man sooner, so he finally forgave me. I was having
such a good time and having so many opportunities to see
things and do things that I didn't want to leave as yet.
Of course, as every week went by, my score was more and
more outstanding. Not that it increased, but they got
lower down in the number of points that it required to go
home, so I could have gone at any time. But I said that
I didn't want to, so I stayed several months longer than
I needed to, which was why I was able to take advantage
of some of this schooling.
So getting back to where we were, I thought it would
be very nice to go to Oxford, and I was sort of watching
for an opening from there. Then it occurred to me that
since I did know enough French to make out in a French
university, perhaps the thing to do was to go there and
leave Oxford for the GIs that didn't have any foreign
language. I don't remember now just how it worked out.
Incidentally, by this time I had gone back to the
headquarters of the Third Infantry Division; I'd trans-
ferred back to my old outfit from the Seventh Army head-
quarters. I was in the section of the headquarters to
which this poop came initially, so I saw it first. My
boss, who served as the I and E officer for the division,
said, "Anything you see, you grab and you can have it."
Something came along for the University of Paris, so I
signed up for that. It was to be from the first of
November of 1945 for two months. The university school
year, if I remember correctly, opened about that time.
They made arrangements for us to go to Paris somewhat
sooner — I think we got there about two weeks ahead to the
opening of school--and we were billeted in the rite
Universitalre on the southern edge of Paris. This Cite
Universitaire in peacetime consisted of buildings and
pavilions of a great many countries. Different countries
would build buildings there to house and entertain and
help their nationals. Well, of course, except for, I
think, a few Scandinavians during the war there were
practically no foreign students at the University of Paris;
so some of these buildings had been put to different uses.
When the American forces came to Paris, we took over the
United States building, the Maison des fitats-Unis, and
we took over the Japanese building, too. Other countries
perhaps took over some of the others. By this time they
had had it arranged for dormitory use again, so we lived
in the Maison des fitats-Unis at the Cite Universitaire
and had a mess there. I think that the reason they sent
us to Paris about two weeks before the school year started
was so we would get the running around madly in the flesh-
pots of Paris out of our systems before the school year
We were all still soldiers in the military, so it had
to be set up so that we were on some sort of an assignment
basis. It was called the 5,829th Student Detachment or some
such [actually 6,871st] , you see, and our orders put us on
temporary duties with that. There was a commanding officer.
He was Major Ian Fraser, who, if I remember correctly, in
civilian life had been a French professor at Columbia. [He]
had been in and out of France for many years, and knew
French very well, and knew lots of French people, and had
academic connections in France. So he was able to arrange
practically any setup you wanted. When you first reported
for duty, you had an interview with him, and he asked you
where you wanted to go and what you wanted to take.
Well, you asked me about the Sorbonne. You know that
the University of Paris is made up of several colleges, the
way, say, Oxford is. It differs markedly from Oxford in
that one college, or one part of it, by far overshadows
all the rest; and that is the Sorbonne. The Sorbonne is
perhaps 80 percent, or something like that, of the University
of Paris. But it isn't the whole thing. As it wound up,
I took two courses, one at a school of the university and
one at a different institution which I'll mention. So I
never actually took a course at the Sorbonne. However,
I registered at the Sorbonne in order to get a carte
d' identite , a little bit like a passport sort of thing.
So I have this carte d ' identite from the Sorbonne for that
school year, but I didn't actually take any classes there.
Another school of the university is the Institut
d'Ethnologie which met in the Museum of Man-- the Musee de
l'Homme--and the staff of the Institute of Ethnology was
the staff of the Museum of Man. They had announcements
in the calendar for the school year of a course on bibliog-
raphy of ethnology given by the librarian. Mademoiselle
Yvonne Oddon , so I signed up for that. I'll come back
to that in a minute.
The other course I took was at the l5cole du Louvre,
which is not part of the university at all. This was a
course in the history of museums given by Germain Bazin,
who at that time was something like assistant curator of
paintings at the Louvre, later became the principal curator,
and is quite [an] important figure in French museum life
in the war and postwar years. He gave a very good course
in the history of museums.*
Our orders were extended at the end of December. It
was supposed to be November to December, but they extended
it through February. So we got two more months, which gave
us four months, which gave us most of the French school year
but not completely. Fortunately for me, he [Bazin] had his
lectures mimeographed. They were not available ahead of
time--you couldn't get them as a substitute for attending
or follow them as he delivered them--but eventually, after
they had been given, they were available.
You bought a ticket, like a ration ticket, which had
places to tear off or to punch a hole in; and every once
in a while, he would announce that "Lectures one to four
are now available." There was an office in the ficole du
Louvre where you could go and pick them up, and then they
would mark your card to show that you had them. By the
end of the time, you had used up your card and had the
complete set of lectures. I got some of them.
Then I had met in the class an American girl named
Nan Chase. Her husband, Peter Chase, was some connection
with the American Embassy. He was a civilian, not in the
service, and I guess they had just arrived. She was
taking this course. So I left [the] unused portion of
*The material of this course was later published by Bazin
as a book, the English version of which is The Museum Age
(New York: Universe Books, 1967). [E.H.C.]
my card with her, and she got the rest of them for me as
they came out and mailed them to me. So I have the complete
course in mimeograph form, even though I did not actually
hear the last four or six lectures myself. But I enjoyed
that very much.
AXE: Now that's the Louvre course.
CARPENTER: Yes, that's the Louvre, the ficole du Louvre.
AXE: Did you finish the ethnology?
CARPENTER: Well, in one sense I didn't complete the course,
because I didn't last out the whole school year there. Just
let me get back to that in a moment.
One other thing I did was to take another course at
the College de France. Now the College de France is, I
suppose you'd say, the capstone of the French educational
system. Certainly a professorship at the College de
France is the highest that a French academic can aspire to.
They're very prestigous appointments. But it's a very —
I don't know that I should say informal, because it's
probably rather formal--strange sort of setup. It's
roughly equivalent to what I suppose we would call in
this country "adult education." In other words, courses
are offered, and anyone may attend. There are no prerequi-
sites or qualifications; you just walk in and attend the
lectures. You get no credit for them in the American
university sense. There's no record and no credits or
anything like that. In effect, it's auditing lectures
by a prominent authority in whatever the field may be.
The great French prehistorian, I'Abbe Henri Breuil,
was to give a course in prehistory. I couldn't resist
that, of course, and so I went to that quite regularly
during the time I was in Paris. Actually I got to know
the abbe personally through another channel that I'll
mention, but I enjoyed that course very much, especially
since it was the first time that he had made any public
description of the discoveries that had been made at the
caves at Lascaux during the war. He had visited them,
but because of the war situation they hadn't been really
reported on as yet; and it was very nice to hear his
account of that.
Getting back, finally, to the Institute of Ethnology:
as I say, the course in bibliography of ethnology, or some
similar title, was to be given by Mademoiselle Yvonne
Oddon, the librarian of the Museum of Man. Of course,
she was just a name in the catalog to me; before the course
began, I didn't know anything about her. So I showed up
for the first session as it was scheduled. The classes
were held in a small auditorium, or meeting room, in the
Museum of Man. I was reasonably early, and there were
half a dozen or a dozen people gathered, I guess. As I
remember, I was the only American. There was a Frenchman
in uniform; the rest were in civilian clothes and were,
generally speaking, younger people, college-age students.
[The] Frenchman in uniform had been wounded in some way;
I think he still had an arm in a sling or a cast or some-
thing like that.
So we were all standing around in this room waiting
for the time to begin. The door opened, and a very brisk
and pert and short, not very old, woman walked in and
started to walk up to the dais or desk at the front of the
room. She sort of looked at the group as she went by,
and she saw me and turned and came over to me and said,
in English, "You're not going to take this course, are
you?" And she said, "Are you a graduate of an American
university?" And I said, "Yes." And she said, "Well,
then, you already know everything I'm going to say. I'm
just going to try and teach these Frenchmen to put down
the date and place of publication when they mention a
book. I know what the standards are. I'm a graduate of
the University of Michigan library school myself." So,
of course, as it turned out we had a wonderful time.
She had just gotten back from [a] concentration
camp in Germany. She had been one of the very early
leaders or people active in the Resistance , so early that
they didn't even know how adequately to cover their
tracks and they were very easily captured. She had
spent almost the whole war in concentration camps in
Germany. She was, I think, in rather poor physical
condition and, having just gotten back, was not inclined
to want to give very much of an organized course, since
she had so many threads to pick up and recuperation and
so forth. As a matter of fact, she hadn't wanted to do
it at all; but, I suppose because of shortage of teaching
personnel, they had sort of forced her into announcing the
course, at least.
The way she worked it was to turn it practically into
individual projects. Each student took a bibliographical
project, and worked on it himself, and came to her on
consultation basis. As I remember, she didn't really
give any particular lectures at all--which, of course,
didn't make too much difference to me because, as she
said, no doubt I would have known pretty much of what
she was going to say. Most of the students hung around
the Museum of Man and used the library, and since she
was the librarian there and had her office there, it was
easy enough to see her. I got to know her quite well.
She would invite me around to — I was going to say her
apartment, but it wasn't her apartment.
Now, here we have to go on another digression.
When I first showed up at the Museum of Man, I met various
persons — [Andre] Leroi- Gourhan and some of the others that
were on the staff. Different ones would say to me, "Have
you met Monsieur le conservateur de prehistoire yet?"
I would have to say no, because he was away on some sort
of a trip and I hadn't met him, the curator of prehistory.
I had met his assistant, a Frenchman, who was very pleas-
ant. And everybody was wanting for me to meet Monsieur
le conservateur . So finally the day came when I was in
the museum, and the assistant encountered me in the hall-
way. "Ah, Monsieur le conservateur is back, and he would
love to see you. Do come to the office." So I came down
to the office, and the assistant led me in and said,
"Monsieur le conservateur, ici Sergeant Carpenter," or
something like that. And the man at the other side of
the desk got up and said, "Hi, I'm Harper Kelley." [laughter]
Of course, I'm telling this as if it came as a complete
surprise to me. I'm sure that I knew already that his
name was Kelley. I could hardly have helped but know
who he was.
He was an American who had gone to France in the
First World War as a soldier, as a GI, in some outfit.
I think it was [the] Forty-second Division, but I don't
remember for sure. [He] had liked it there. I don't know
whether he got interested in prehistory while he was still
in the service, but at any rate, he stayed in France after
the First World War and studied prehistory under the
Abbe Breuil and became an authority; [he] stayed there,
and took a job, and eventually became the curator of
prehistory at the Museum of Man.
I don't want to go into too much detail about the
whole story of his situation during the war. When the
war first broke out, it was purely a European war, [and]
he was not directly involved. He had been there during
the beginnings, at least, of the German occupation. He
had an apartment, and he just put a sign on the door,
"American Citizen" or something like that, and it was
Then, when Germany and the United States were at
war, he had to leave. I don't know whether he was allowed
to leave without any problem particularly, or whether he
did have to sort of get away by an underground channel.
He had already been helping the underground and using
his apartment as a refuge or station for the underground
railroad for smuggling allied fliers out of occupied
Europe and so forth. This [was the] underground circle
Yvonne was in. She had been captured fairly early, but
they weren't all, so some of them kept on and were people
he knew. They were mostly staff members of the Museum
of Man [and they] used his apartment during this period.
They were unable to do so after he left, because when the
apartment became that of an enemy alien, the Germans
A German official and his wife were installed in
the apartment. Of course, when the Germans abandoned
Paris, this official and his wife left. They took with
them, I think they said, most of the pots and pans and
most of the bed linen, or something like that, that they
felt they needed, I suppose. But Kelley didn't feel put
out about this particularly, because, in exchange, they
left behind a German stove they had installed. It was
so much more efficient than French stoves that you could
get a great deal more heat with the very minimal rations
of coal and wood and things like that that were available
in Paris in that winter of '45-'46.
He managed to get back almost immediately. He had
left France and come to the United States, and during the
war — he was far too old for military service by that time —
he spent the period that he was back in the United States
at the Peabody Museum in Cambridge [Massachusetts] , at
Harvard, reorganizing some of their displays of prehistoric
material or something like that. Somehow, he was able to
get back practically on the heels of the retreating Germans
and get back into his apartment. So he was back that
The 7\bbe Breuil had an apartment in the same building.
So did Yvonne Oddon and a young woman with whom she shared
the apartment who was a physical anthropologist. She
worked at one of the Paris hospitals, but not in a medical
sense. It was anthropometry, that sort of thing. She
was particularly concerned, I think, if I remember correctly,
with the problems of twins. She measured twins, and kept
records on them, and traced their growth and their develop-
ment and things like that. I don't know just exactly what
it was. Unfortunately, at the moment I can't think of
her name. She was a delightful person.
The four of them pooled their resources, their fuel
rations and their food rations. They had supper every
night in Kelley's apartment and then spent the evening
there--until the time to go to bed, when the girls would
go back to theirs and the abbe would go to his--because
it was wamn. It was much better heated than almost any
apartment, you see. So I was quite often invited there,
both for occasions when there were just the four of them,
and also there were a couple of occasions when they held--
it's not too glorified to say "parties." They would hold
parties and invite quite a few people. And of course,
among the people they were inviting were people who had
been active in the underground in one way or another.
Incidentally, Yvonne's apartment mate had continued
active in the underground during the war, during the whole
occupation of Paris. She happened never to have been
caught, so she was in Paris all during that period and
was active. As a matter of fact, I think she was the
secretary to the minister of the interior in the under-
ground government, or something like that. It's certainly
a shame I can't think of her name. Of course I have it
at home .
AXE: Not Vichy?
CARPENTER: No, the shadow government, the underground
government. As a matter of fact, that, if I remember
correctly, was Jacques Soustelle. I remember meeting
him at one of these affairs at Kelley's apartment and
various other people who had been active in the Resistance .
Of course, this was a great period for them; they were
sort of unfolding a now-it-can-be-told basis. They were
establishing contacts with each other, because before
they often hadn't even known who each other were. Now,
of course, it was possible to say; and they found who it
was that they had been dealing with and passing messages
to or from or various things like that; and it was quite
I thought it was a little too bold to just sit there
and out-and-out take notes with a pad on my knee; so about
every half-hour I used to excuse myself and go to the bath-
room and frantically write down some of the points, things
that had been said and the names and the things that came
AXE: And do you still have these notes, bathroom notes?
AXE: Or are they privy?
CARPENTER: Oh, dear, Ruth, my. Oh, yes, I must have.
You know me, I never throw anything away. I must admit
that I don't know that I could put my hands on them instantly,
but yes, I do have them.
AXE: Oh, this is important.
CARPENTER: Then, of course, [there is] another thing
that ties in with this, and I know I've got this because
they are visible and I know where I can spot them. It
also was a period, you see, when two things happened.
They were able to come out from underground just after
the war. The other thing [that] happened was an easing
of the restrictions on printing and publishing--of course,
easing the German censorship, obviously, but also easing
the rationing of paper and [a] more available supply. So
everybody was rushing into print with his reminiscences
of the underground, you see. So I spent hours and hours
in Paris going around to the bookstores.
Initially, what I was doing was sort of compiling a
bibliography, and then it occurred to me, in the words of
Gilbert, "such an opportunity may not occur again." In
other words, I might make a bibliographical note of these
books, but it might be difficult to find them in the future
after they'd gone out of print. So I began buying them.
Most of them were quite modestly priced for the pay that
a GI had. I was a technical sergeant at the time — the next
to the highest noncommissioned rank--which had a very good
salary with it; and even though I sent a good portion of
that home, an allotment home, I still, compared to the
average Frenchman, was very well off financially. So I
was able to buy practically anything I wanted to in the
way of these books. So after starting with bibliographical
notes, then I began buying the books; and I do have quite
I concentrated particularly on the battle of Paris,
the liberation of Paris, Paris during the occupation and
so forth, but then other accounts of the Resistance .
I have sixty or seventy titles, something like that.
Almost all of them, of course, are paperback; I guess
perhaps they're all paperbound. So I do have those.
They're in the bookcase immediately inside the front
door when you come in, so I could lay my hands on those.
The notes that I took, I'm sure I do have. So in answer
to your question, yes, I went to school in Paris.
AXE: Oh, well, it's most interesting. And what was the
decoration you received? What was that for?
CARPENTER: Oh, well, for being a good boy, I guess.
AXE: Good Conduct Medal?
CARPENTER: Yes. Eventually I got a Good Conduct Medal,
but the first one I got was the Silver Star, I think it
Incidentally, I meant to say [something else] about
this program of education under the department that was
known as I and E. What many GIs did was to go from one
school to another, often on proper orders, and sometimes
not quite proper orders. I don't know whether many of
them literally forged orders, but on their own they
would just go off to something else. This was known as
riding the I and E circuit. So a lot of GIs were riding
the I and E circuit, which I didn't do, in the sense that
I quit when my initial period was up.
The situation there was that the orders v/ere extended
to the end of February of '46, but then they finally
clamped down and said that everybody who was eligible to
go home had to go home. If you wanted to stay, you had
to take your discharge there, be discharged in France or
whatever country you were. You could stay on a civilian
I didn't particularly want to do that, especially
since the folks were getting a little restive. I'd been
away over four years, you see. Although they were delighted
in my having an opportunity to see things and do things
and all of that, everybody else's son that had survived
the war was home. Mother, of course, particularly was
getting a little restive, so I decided to come home. And
so I did come at the end of February. I didn't try to
ride the circuit any farther.
I was going to say, in addition to all this schooling
and other things, of course, lots of decorations was
another thing being done. Also, there was great inter-
allied bonhomie in those days, so the governments were
passing out decorations to each others' GIs. I hope it
won't disillusion anybody, but this was done on sort of a
ration basis. In other words, a piece of poop would come
from army headquarters, and it would say, "Twenty Orders
of the Red Star"--or whatever the Russian decoration is
called--" twenty croix de guerre, and twenty-some British
decorations are available for Seventh Army. These are
assigned on the basis of two to division headquarters,
five to such and such division or corps, five to such and
such corps, three to something else." Then the appropriate
people would put in recommendations. This was when I was
still with the Seventh Army Headquarters.
AXE: Who put in the Silver Star recommendation?
CARPENTER: Well, headquarters broke it down so we had
one Order of the Red Star for the historical section.
I don't know how the colonel chose it, but at any rate,
that went to one of the men who had been a jeep driver in
the section. He got the Order of the Red Star. Then
somewhere along in there, they also were giving out
American decorations, too, and I got a Silver Star.
Another not exactly advantage but aspect of giving
these out was that each decoration gave you points. So
a man who was just on the verge of having enough points
to go home, of course, was very anxious to get a decoration
because that might give him enough points to push him
over. Well, I didn't need the points, but for some reason
or other, they gave me this Silver Star. In one sense,
I'm a little unhappy, because very soon after I got the
Silver Star, we got another ration; and the historical
section had one croix de guerre to give out. Well, the
colonel didn't feel, since I had just gotten a decoration,
that he could give it to me; so he gave it to Sergeant
[William] Bancroft, who used to work for the San Francisco
Chronicle before the war. I think I might rather have had
the croix de guerre, but I didn't.
Of course, as a former member of the Third Infantry
Division, the whole division had been awarded the croix de
guerre in World War I. We wore the fourragere that goes
with it on our uniforms. Also, our insignia, the Third
Division insignia, was keyed to three of the great battles
of the first war, particularly the ones in which the French
were involved--Chateau Thierry and Argonne and Aisne-Meuse.
Of course, this went over big with the French. So I had
the accoutrements of a croix de guerre even though I don't
have an individual one.
AXE: And how about Gerald McDonald? Was he decorated?
CARPENTER: I don't know whether Gerald ever got any
decorations or not, because in the later stages of our
military career we were separated. The outfit I was in went
to France; he stayed in Italy. As I told you before, he was
a highly skilled cryptographer, and he stayed with what-
ever section or headquarters he was with, and they stayed
in Italy. I think it quite likely that he must have been
given some sort of an award eventually. By the time we got
together again after the war, I guess it never happened
to have been mentioned. Wait a minute. Come to think of
it, I didn't get the Silver Star. I got the Bronze Star,
which is a notch lower, which was a very routine sort for
anybody that had kept his nose clean.
AXE: You came home and went where and did what, Ed?
CARPENTER: Well, in a sense, I cut my own throat by
staying as long as I did. If I'd only agreed to leave,
I think, as little as a week sooner, I would have gotten
home faster, because they discontinued flying the GIs home.
So that meant that I had to come home by ship rather than
fly, which took longer. That's a whole hegira in itself:
of going to--I almost said concentration camp.
AXE: The point of embarkation?
CARPENTER: Yes. There's a word in American army usage
that I can't think of at the moment for the camps where
personnel were collected and processed.* It meant going
to this camp, which was called Camp Top Hat, on the out-
skirts of Antwerp; and then you had to wait for available
shipping. Then, eventually, you were aboard a ship. We
came back on a Victory ship and docked in New York. I
could see the skyline and things, but all I touched of
New York was one dock. We docked on one side of a pier
and we came down the gangplank, walked across the pier onto
a ferry boat, and went over to New Jersey to Camp Kilmer.
Then from there, we came across the country by train.
*The phrase I wanted is "replacement depot" — which we used to
call "repple depple" — though I am not sure that is the correct
designation for Camp Top Hat. [E.H.C.]
It started out as a troop train. It was made up so that
one or two cars would be going in the direction of Chicago,
and one or two cars would be going in the direction of
New Orleans, one or two cars for the Pacific Coast and so
forth. As these cars dropped off, the composition of the
train would change. I suppose for more than halfway across
the country, we were just one or two troop cars on a civil-
ian train, and [we] ate in the civilian diner. Earlier,
we'd had [a] GI mess car on the train. So I didn't get
home until, I think, early in April of '46.
It was too late to do anything about the school year,
of course, in the United States. A school year was just
drawing to a close then. Of course, I went to the UCLA
campus and renewed ray contacts with the professors under
whom I'd been studying.
AXE: And that was in anthropology.
CARPENTER: Well, no, primarily in history. I had been
minoring in anthropology. At that time, the UCLA anthro-
pology department was very small. There were only two men
in it: Dr. [Ralph L. ] Beals and Dr. [Harry] Hoijer. I
wanted to take further work with them, which I did even-
tually. But I wasn't quite so much in anthropology then
as I came to be later. My major field was history, and
I had been working on my doctorate in history.
AXE: Was it as this time that you founded the UCLA
CARPENTER: No, that had been before I went into the army.
AXE: You founded the society of anthropology.
CARPENTER: Yes, the UCLA Anthropological Society. That
must have been perhaps '39 or somewhere back in there.
But I don't think I'll go into detail about that now.
In answer to your question, I just spent the summer at
AXE: Was it at this time that your mother suggested or
initiated your collection of Indian illustrators?
CARPENTER: No. That didn't come till much, much later;
that's well postwar. I started the Indian illustrators
in the 1950s.
AXE: Postwar. Wasn't this postwar?
CARPENTER: Well, yes, this is immediately postwar. But
I mean it was ten years or more before I began collecting
the Indian illustrators.
AXE: Oh, so now you're back at UCLA.
CARPENTER: Well, not yet. As I say, I came back in the
spring of '46, and I didn't do anything during that summer.
(Now I would dearly love to be able to remember how this
worked, how I made this contact.) Overseas there was all
this talk about missing Mom's apple pie, or something like
that, you know. I had found that the thing I missed was
books and the availability of a reference library and things
like that. I'm sure that there was some reason why I had
decided even before getting out of the army and coming home
that I would look into the possibility of work in rare
books or library work or some such thing. Even before
the war, I had been quite a little influenced by Lawrence
Clark Powell at UCLA. This had, no doubt, quite a little
to do with it. I know the person who told me, but how
he happened to know it and why he happened to tell me,
I don't know. John Caughey, who later became my major
professor after Dr. [Joseph B.] Lockey died, told me
that there was an opening at the Huntington Library. I
don't know whether he wrote on my behalf, or phoned, or
I went out; but anyway, I went to the Pluntington Library
sometime during the summer of '46. They had an opening
primarily as attendant at the desk in the rare-book reading
room. I thought, of course, that would be an excellent
introduction to rare books. I was not qualified to offer
myself for any particularly important position in rare-
book work. As a matter of fact, quite frankly, I'm sure
that I had in my mind at that time that it was an experi-
ment to find out what the rare-book world was, and what it
involved, and whether I liked it, and whether I'd be suit-
able. So I thought that would be a very good introduction.
I took that position and held it for just a shade over a
year, I think about thirteen months.
I had begun my doctorate under Dr. Lockey, who had been
for a long time one of the professors of Latin-American
history at UCLA. Although it was Latin-American history.
his heart was in Florida history. He came from Florida.
This, of course, could qualify as Latin-American history
because he was a specialist in what's known as the second
Spanish period. (The Spanish discovered and colonized
Florida; but in 1765, they surrendered it to the British,
and there was a British period of twenty years. Then,
in 1785, Spain got it back from England. The second
Spanish period was 1785 till the United States took it
over about 1819 or '20. He was an authority in that
period of the second Spanish occupation of Florida.)
I had expected to do my dissertation in some subject
within that area.
While I was overseas in the army, he had had some
sort of stroke or health difficulty and was in very poor
shape. He had returned to teaching but on a rather mini-
mal basis. The university had made some arrangement
whereby he could continue to teach his graduate seminar;
and also, very liberally it seems to me, the university
made the arrangement that (he wanted to retire to Florida)
he could do it in Florida. They said that those of us who
had begun with him — which was primarily Bernard Bobb and
Dick Murdoch and me — could go to Florida and study with
him in Florida but be registered at the University of
California. It would count as being in residence and so
Well, I don't remember what Bernie Bobb ' s reaction
was, but Dick Murdoch was all for this. He was making
the arrangements to do that. But I couldn't quite make
up my mind whether I wanted to or not. I didn't partic-
ularly want to go there. To be blunt about it, I have no
particular interest in Florida except possibly as a disser-
tation topic. But modern, contemporary Florida — I didn't
particularly care about spending time there, especially
leaving my parents again after having just gotten home from
being away from them for so long. So I was very much of
two minds as to whether to do this or not.
The problem was solved for me by the fact that
practically as soon as he got back to Florida he died.
So this situation never opened up [and] I didn't have to
make up my mind whether to go there or not. So I regis-
tered again in the fall of '46 at UCLA. The other Latin-
American history professor on the faculty there — they'd had
the two for many years — was Dr. Roland D. Hussey, but he
was on leave to the State Department, and he wasn't expec-
ted back for about another year.
To handle Latin-American history in his absence and
Dr. Lockey's illness, they had hired someone else; Madaline
Nichols was her name. She's an authority on the gaucho,
and a very competent woman, and a perfectly good person,
I would think, under whom to start a doctoral program.
Of course, I'd already begun the doctoral program. I had
all the preliminaries out of the way, but I hadn't begun
my dissertation. [She was] a perfectly suitable person
under whom to begin working on a dissertation, except
that, of course, she knew and everybody else knew that
her appointment was temporary. In other words, she was
a replacement for Dr. Hussey primarily, and when he came
back she would be leaving.
Well, it did seem a little difficult to work under
her for perhaps a year and then switch to him. So what
all three of us did--Bernard Bobb and Dick Murdoch and
I--was to switch to John Caughey, who was not officially
Latin- American. His field of graduate study was Calif-
ornia history, and his was a seminar in California history.
He agreed to stretch its boundaries enough to take in
three wandering Latin-Americanists. So we all started
work under him.
AXE: To interrupt--now, was this the time you met Mr.
Wagner? You knew him earlier.
CARPENTER: No, I knew Mr. Wagner earlier because, you
see, I had been taking Dr. Lockey's seminar since 1937.
I graduated from UCLA in June of '37, and started my
graduate work, and immediately began taking Dr. Lockey's
seminar. As you probably know, the seminar of a man who
has doctoral candidates is not supposed to be repetitive,
so one can take it time and time again. They wouldn't
allow you to repeat a lecture course, at least not for
credit, but a seminar you can. So I took Dr. Lockey's
seminar without interruption from September of 1937 until
June of 1941, when I left to go into the army. I had
four years of it. Then I had Dr. Caughey ' s seminar for
some time after the war. I could probably narrow it down
if I checked on some angles, but it was during that period
between '37 and '41 that I met Mr. Wagner. Dr. Lockey
used to invited him to come occasionally to the seminar.
He didn't come very often, but I can remember at least
twice that he came.
One time Dr. Lockey invited him particularly because
the evening was on Chilean historians. There was a young
woman in the seminar whose name I don't remember, and she
was not one of the stronger members. She was competent,
but one wouldn't expect one of her reports to be tremen-
dous. (The meetings of the seminar, after the first one
or two to get things under way, consisted of a report
by a member of the seminar--not Dr. Lockey himself, although
he made comments. He guided you outside the seminar hours
in preparing your paper and then made comments when it
was delivered.) This girl was going to speak about
Chilean historians, and that seemed particularly appro-
priate to Dr. Lockey for Mr. Wagner. So he invited Dr.
Wagner to come, and he did. Whether that was the first
evening I met him or not I don't remember.
It was the custom [that] Dr. Lockey kept quiet for
the whole evening until the very last. He might say a
word or two of some sort at the very beginning; but then
almost immediately that the seminar started, the person
that was to give the report took over, and was the star
feature of the evening, and gave the report. Then, as
soon as the report was over — it was supposed to run about
an hour--there was a break for about ten minutes. Then
we reassembled, and the other members of the seminar
criticized the paper, commented on it and criticized it.
The person who had made the preceding report had prece-
dence, the first crack at making the criticism. Once
he had made his comments, then it was free-for-all, and
it was anyone who wanted to. But everyone in the seminar
was expected to make some comment and have something to
say about the paper. After all the students had had
their say. Dr. Lockey would say something. Often, he
wouldn't say very much about the paper, but he might
make some comment. If there was a guest, as there was
on this occasion, he would ask him before he said anything.
So after the girl had given her paper, and we had a
break and came back, there were the comments from the
members of the class. She had spoken about the excellent
school of historians in Chile, which she attributed partly
to the climate. Although it's a Latin-American country,
it's both far south and has high altitude, so that it
has considerable temperate zones. [And there is] more
intellectual stimulation, presumably, in temperate
climates than in tropical ones. After the last student
had had his say. Dr. Lockey turned to Mr. Wagner, and he
said, "Well, Dr. Wagner, to what do you attribute the
excellence of Chilean historians?" Dr. Wagner said,
"Well, I've never been particularly struck by the excel-
lence of Chilean historians"--which took care of that
AXE: He should have asked him about bibliographers and
Jose Toribio Medina.
CARPENTER: As I say, I don't remember whether that
evening was the first time I met Dr. Wagner, but he
certainly came several times to the seminar, two or
three times at least during those four years. So I'd
met him before the war. Well, I think I'll quit now
for a bit, if you don't mind. [tape recorder turned
I might add one little postscript to tonight's
tape. While we were not on the tape, Ruth, you said
that it was wonderful that the army had gotten me into
the historical work for which I was qualified, or something
like that. And I said that it was not entirely the
virtues of the army classification system that brought
When we went into the army, we had a series of tests.
There was a general intelligence test, and a mechanical
aptitude test, and a clerical aptitude test. I did
extremely well on the clerical aptitude test. They had
a system of numbers, and each position or function within
the army has an assigned number. The personnel people
assign to the individuals numbers meaning that they are
qualified to fulfill the function with that number. A
list was posted in our basic training camp of the numbers
that had been assigned to the men. Well, the number didn't
mean anything to us until they were explained. A large
proportion of us had the same number, which was the number
for rifleman, but a few had a different number. Then a
fair number had a double number, and that was the case
after my name. It had the number for rifleman, and then,
as an alternative, the niimber for--I don't know whether
it was a general clerk or a special aspect of clerking--
And that's what I got into as soon as I went to a
regular outfit, the Thirtieth Infantry in San Francisco.
They assigned me to clerical work, to desk work and so
forth. That continued until we went overseas. I rose in
the ranks and in responsibility and, when we went overseas,
was the chief clerk of one of the sections of the division
headquarters, the G-1 Section. So I think you can say,
perhaps, that that was a reasonable functioning of the
army classification system.
After we had been in the Mediterranean theater for
a while, we began to get poop — which I've defined before —
about the historical section of the supreme headquarters.
(The supreme headquarters in the Mediterranean wasn't
called SHAEF. That was the Supreme Headquarters Allied
Expeditionary Force, and that was Eisenhower in England
at the time.) I forget what the supreme headquarters
in the Mediterranean was called, but it had an historical
section, and an announcement was made through poop of the
creation of this section. I don't think he was the head
of it, but the person I remember connected with it was
Colonel E. Dwight Salmon, who had been a professor of
history at one of the Ivy League colleges before the war.
Of course, this interested me. Then, further poop came
out with the requirements for submission of historical
reports, so we were fully aware of the establishment of
this section. At least some of us in the clerical fields
were. So I was quite interested.
Well, my outfit was at Anzio — I didn't make the
landing; I didn't come in until D-plus-ten, the tenth
day after the landing--and as you know, that was a rather
confining situation. We had a very thoughtful boss and,
as it went on [and] we were confined to an enclave and
couldn't go anywhere or do anything, [he] found excuses
of one sort or another to send practically every man in
the office back to Naples on ostensible army business to
give him a chance at a little break, a little change, a
chance to whoop it up if he wanted to. So I was sent to
do some paperwork at the theater headquarters. That was
it — MTOUSA, Mediterranean Theater of Operations of the
United States Army, which was at that time at Caserta.
So I went by sea from Anzio to Naples, and then by
jeep, or some sort of transportation, to Caserta. I had
this business at the adjutant-general's office. It involved
their preparing some orders or something typewritten for
which I would have to wait a while. I thought while I
was waiting I would look up this historical section and
see what it was like and what it was doing. They were
headquartered in the royal palace at Caserta, which, if
I remember correctly, is bigger than Versailles, [or] at
least it's as big as. One of the Bourbon kings was going
to outdo the French Bourbons, or something like that,
and he built this stupendous palace.
Of course, you can imagine, when it was full of GIs ,
what it was like with signs stuck all over the place to
this department and that office and so forth. There were
signs to the historical section, and I followed these.
I went upstairs and downstairs and all around this huge
building. Finally, I found a door marked "The Historical
Section"; so I went in. It was a fairly sizeable room.
Rough wooden shelving had been built all around the room,
and a staff sergeant was there, bundling up some papers
and putting them on the shelves and that sort of thing.
He asked what he could do for me. I introduced myself
and said I was [from] the headquarters of the Third Infantry
Division here on business and had a little time to kill, and
I was curious to see the department and know what it was
like and so forth. He told me a little about it and their
work, in the course of which it also came out that I had
been a doctoral candidate in history. So he said, "Well, I
think you ought to meet the captain." So I said, "All right."
So he took me into the next office and introduced me to a
captain — doggone it, his name is gone now, which is a little
bit a part of the story. [Harris G. Warren] At any rate,
when this staff sergeant introduced me as Sergeant Carpenter,
this captain said, "Didn't you have an article on Arsene
Lacarriere Latour in the Hispanic - American Historical Review
in 1938?" Of course, I just absolutely went through the
floor. That was my first published historical thing, and it
was very minor--it wasn't an article, it was a note, the sort
of thing that no one but an extreme professional in the same
field would know or remember. Of course, I said yes.
He was a professor of history at Louisiana State,
I think, or Tulane, and this had been of particular interest
to him. It involved New Orleans, and he had remembered it.
So he was most cordial, and we talked a while. Finally, he
said, "I think you ought to meet the major." So he led me
into the adjoining room, and here was a major — I do remember
his name — Chester Starr. The captain explained a little bit
who I was and so forth. I don't think Major Starr knew
about my article on Latour, but he also came from one of
those southern universities, and he was interested. Later
he published a history of the Fifth Army.
He was most cordial, and we talked and so forth;
and he said he was very sorry, that he didn't have an
opening. I said, "Well, I'm not trying to get in here. I
just wanted to see what your setup was and who was around
and what you were doing." So he explained some more and
finally said, "Well, will you at least write down for us
your qualifications and your experience, and also your
present rank and address and location so we can get in
touch with you?" He gave me a piece of paper, and there
was a typewriter there; so I sat down at the typewriter. And
he and the captain went out while I was typing. Before
I had finished typing, they came back in and said, "We
think you ought to meet the colonel."
They had a full colonel in tow. Again, I don't
remember his name, although he isn't so much a figure
in the story. He was in charge of this department. I
found out later that he had been in command of a regiment
in the Thirty-Sixth Division landing at Salerno, and he had
goofed off a little bit, not badly enough to be court
trialed or relieved of his commission or anything like that,
but badly enough to be relieved of a field command. So
they had removed him from the regiment and made him the
historian at the headquarters. Well, it just happened
that at that time, part of my work in the G-1 Section of
the Third Infantry Division was working with awards and
decorations, for morale purposes to explain to the men the
meaning of the armorial devices that they wore as part of
their insignia. So to deal with the men in the division,
I carried with me the metal insignia of practically every
outfit within the Third Division. For some reason or other,
I had taken these with me; I had them in my pocket.
CARPENTER: No, not medal, but metal. The metal insignia
that you wore on your lapels or on caps or something like
that. In some of them, the division insignia also appeared
in cloth, which was sewn on the shoulder. The units smaller
than division had theirs in metal, some of which, inciden-
tally by that time were very hard to get because they stopped
making them when the war broke out. It was sometimes only
the older timers that had a complete set of them, enough to
have a full uniform of them.
I don't know how I happened to produce it, but I
produced the one from the Fifteenth Infantry. It turned
out that the colonel had been in the Fifteenth Infantry in
China and had been on the committee that was appointed to
adopt the insignia. He was just delighted to see this
and had a long anecdote about the difficulties they had
in getting this insignia adopted. It happens to be in
pidgin English, and of course the army authorities thought
that it ought to be either Latin or proper English. They
had quite a fight to get this pidgin English phrase adopted,
which incidentally is "Can Do," which was also used by the
Seabees during the Second World War.
He said that he was very sorry that he didn't have
any opening, and I said, "I'm not trying to find an opening.
I'm happy where I am. I just wanted to meet you people
and see what you're doing." Finally we parted with great
expressions of esteem on all sides. Well, they had my
experience on record; and as a matter of fact, I believe
that Major Starr probably turned it over to Colonel Salmon
at the headquarters.
Then, when a historical section was created for
Seventh Army and the theater headquarters was trying to
find personnel to assign to this, Colonel Salmon had my
name. So I was transferred from the headquarters of the
Third Division. Actually, by mistake I was assigned first
to the theater headquarters, and for a few days I classed
as a member of that and was billeted at Caserta, sleeping
in the stables of the royal palace. Then they got the
orders straightened out, so I went to Seventh Army. And
I was the first enlisted man in the historical section of
the Seventh Army.
FEBRUARY 6, 1972
CARPENTER: Dr. Lockey's seminar was certainly one of the
major elements in my experience in college and one that I'm
very glad to have had. I think I got a great deal out of
it, and so did almost all of the other people who took the
seminar. I think perhaps [I should say] a word about Dr.
Lockey himself, although I'm not going to go into him very
much. Joseph B. Lockey was on the faculty at UCLA in the
history department before I came there and had been for some
time. I don't know just how long. This is not the point
to try and retrace his career, both because I don't know
it particularly, and also if anyone is interested it would
be easier to find it more accurately elsewhere. He was a
Southerner from Florida.
One of his first experiences in education had been in
Peru. He had some sort of a supervisory capacity in educa-
tional services in Peru. Well, he may have known some
Spanish before he went there, but [that is] where he per-
fected his Spanish — with the result that he spoke Spanish
with a Peruvian accent. At the time that I came to UCLA,
he was one of the professors of Latin-American history.
Dr. Hussey was also teaching in that same field.
For some reason or other, I felt I wanted to take
as an elective the upper-division course in Latin-American
history. The prerequisite was the lower-division course
in the history of the Americas, the famous Bolton course,
which at UCLA at that time was given by Dr. Caughey. So
I took that, which then qualified me for admission to Dr.
Lockey's upper-division course in Latin- American history.
I think it was called History 162. At that time, there
was a course for history majors known as 199, a senior
course that was sort of a protoseminar . It was individual
work and writing a research paper of your own. It was the
beginning of training in doing research and writing.
AXE: That was in the forties?
CARPENTER: No, this would be in the thirties, because I
entered UCLA as a junior in September 19 34 and graduated
in June of 19 37. I took three years to complete my junior
and senior years because I started with an English major
but added a history major, and [I] took an extra year and
completed the full number of units for each major. I
graduated in two departments, which is why it took me
three years to do what would normally have been the last
It seemed to be understood after I took Dr. Lockey's
undergraduate Latin-American history course that I would
go on with him, so I took my 199 from him. As a matter of
fact, during my senior year, my second senior year, I
attended his graduate seminar as a guest. I don't remember
whether I went regularly every week or only occasionally.
but I know I went several times before I actually was
eligible to enroll in it. Then, as soon as I became a
graduate student and started work on my master's in
September of '37, I enrolled in Dr. Lockey's seminar.
A graduate seminar was not like an undergraduate lecture
course that you cannot repeat for credit. A seminar you
can. It was customary to take, each semester, the seminar
of your major professor, the man under whom you expected
to do your doctorate. So I took his seminar for credit--
I was registered in it--for the school year of '37- '38,
'38- '39, at which point I got my master's degree. Then
[I] started on my doctorate and went right ahead in his
seminar in the school years of '39-' 40 and '40-' 41. At
the end of the school year in June of 1941, I was drafted
into the army, so that terminated that particular period.
I later went back to UCLA to finish my doctorate. By
that time, however. Dr. Lockey was very ill and very soon
after that died, so I did not take his seminar further.
Perhaps the first thing to say about his seminar is
to describe the overall way that it worked. Many professors
run seminars rather loosely and allow the students to work
more or less on whatever topic seems suitable to them —
with the professor's approval, of course. The topics may
be quite unrelated to each other and only within the general
field of the period or area in which the seminar is supposed
to deal. We had a fair amount of choice in selection of a
topic but Dr. Lockey wanted [the students] to work in areas
that were fairly close together. The main reason for this
[was], I think, that each student would have some idea of
the problems and the bibliography involved in the other
students' papers. In other words, we were doing papers
on topics closely enough related so that there was a fair
overlap in the research materials that one used, particularly
documentary sets. So, in criticizing another person's
paper, you were sometimes in a position to say, "Haven't
you overlooked the report by so-and-so in such and such
Each semester, there was, as I remember, one report
from each student. We would take a round, each member
in the seminar, on a closely related period or theme.
Usually the first semester of the school year, it was in
the exploration or discovery or early colonial period in
Latin America. Often it was the discovery and exploration
period. Each member of the seminar would be doing a paper
on one or another of the early figures. Then usually in
the second semester, the round was on, perhaps, the late
colonial period or more apt to be the revolutionary period
in Mexico or Central and South America. So we might each
be doing a paper on a national leader or battle or incident
in the revolutionary wars, which were reasonably close
together. [Thus] one had some idea of the materials that
the other person was, or should have been, using. I think
perhaps that's enough on the overall way the seminar was
Perhaps the next thing to say is about one's individ-
ual preparation for giving a paper. Of course, I don't
need to go into the fact that this mainly consisted of
doing your research and reading. Very, very rarely was
any of this based on true original source materials. It
usually was based on good secondary materials and on a
certain amount of primary material in the form of published
documents of one sort or another. I won't go into that
particularly. [tape recorder turned off]
One started out by looking over the subject and the
material on it and roughing it out. When you had it pretty
well in mind, you prepared an outline of the subject, and
brought it to Dr. Lockey, and discussed it with him. I
had the experience myself each time that I was about to
give [a] report, but actually I saw a good deal more of it
because, as Dr. Lockey 's research assistant, I worked in
the same office with him and was often present when other
members of the seminar came in to discuss their outlines
This is not a touchy point exactly, but [there was]
one thing that I never quite understood about Dr. Lockey,
or with which I didn't quite sympathize, perhaps; and
that is that he was firmly convinced that any subject in
the world fell naturally into a five-point outline. The
first point would be the introduction; and the second would
be the development of the theme; the third would be the
main part of it, the principal presentation; the fourth
would be the winding down of the theme; and then the fifth
the conclusion, or something like that. He made it rather
difficult for anybody who planned to outline the topic
in anything other than five points, in four or six or
whatever it might be. I don't know that he ever gave
anyone a bad grade just because his outline wasn't in
five points, but everybody understood that if they expected
to go over very well with Dr. Lockey, they'd better somehow
get their outline into five points. As one might imagine,
after you got used to this idiosyncrasy of his, it was
surprising how many times the thing really would work out
to five points.
But as I say, you would prepare a draft of an outline,
and bring it in, and privately, before the seminar, discuss
it with Dr. Lockey. Then, when the two of you had agreed
on an outline, you went ahead and prepared a presentation
of your paper on the basis of that outline. At the time
you made your presentation, you had prepared a copy of the
outline and of a bibliography for every member of the
seminar, or everyone who was present. (In those days,
there weren't the convenient reproduction techniques, like
Xerox, that we have now. They were mostly done by multiple
typed copies, either you yourself, or you paid a typist to
prepare four or five or six copies at a time and do this
two or three times.)
I haven't mentioned the size of the seminar, and I
don't want to speak with any confidence on it, because I
don't remember it too certainly. Usually there were about
eight to ten people enrolled in it. So with Dr. Lockey
and possibly a visitor or so, that meant you needed about
a dozen copies of your outline and bibliography.
AXE: And of the members of the seminar from time to time,
varying in the different semesters, can you remember any
of the members?
CARPENTER: Oh, yes, of course I can. Now, I had intended,
before talking this over with you, to get out my files from
the years I took these seminars and actually work out a
list of the principal people present, which I haven't been
able to do. But I think I can discuss the manner in which
the seminar was conducted without using those names parti-
cularly. This is not to be taken as any sort of a record.
There were several people who were in more or less
the same position I was. They took the seminar time after
time. Those expecting to finish doctorates under Dr.
Lockey included Hal Bierck, and Dick Murdoch, and Bernard
Bobb. I think those may be the only ones beside me that
were actually embarked on a doctoral program with Dr.
Lockey. But there were others before my time. When I
first began attending the seminar, one of the regulars was
Robert Frazer. TVndrew Horn was taking his doctorate in
medieval history under Dr. [David K.] Bjork, but he was
very fond of Dr. Lockey and of his courses, and was quite
a faithful attendant, and I believe actually was registered
in the seminar almost all of the time that I was as well.
There was a fellow named Dan McGarry, and, of course,
there were several young ladies, too. I don't know that
I can think of names for them at the moment.
Of course, the backbone of the seminar was either
actual or potential doctoral candidates. There were a
certain number of master's candidates and a certain number
of people who were candidates for secondary teaching
credentials. They were apt — I don't mean this unkindly —
to be the weaker members of the seminar. On occasion,
somebody would wander into the seminar and take it who
was really not competent to hold up the pace that we had
set. Of course, two things happened. Sometimes these
people dropped out. I remember more than one occasion
[when] people dropped during the middle of the semester —
which, of course, is not as common in graduate work as it
is in undergraduate work. The other thing is that the word
had sort of gotten around that Lockey ' s seminar was a pretty
tough course. So generally speaking, the seminar consisted
pretty well of fairly high-powered people, and as I hope
I'll make clear, a pretty rough-and-tumble session each
I've already mentioned the fact that you had prepared
your outline and bibliography for the session [at] which
you held forth. There was only one person a time. I have
attended seminars in which more than one report was given
in the course of the afternoon or the evening, but in Dr.
Lockey ' s case, there was only one per meeting of the
In those days, it met in a room on the third floor
of the old library building, which is now the undergraduate
library building [Powell Library] . (The room has now —
at least the last time I was there two or three years ago —
been remodeled by having a wall knocked out to make it
a larger room, with some other adjoining room, into a
lounge for the library staff.) At that time, it was a
seminar meeting room, across the hall from Dr. Lockey ' s
office. Dr. Lockey had a key to the library; so that
meant that the seminar did not have to break up by ten
o'clock, which was closing time in the library in those
days. V7e usually did break up pretty soon after ten, but
we didn't have to absolutely hurry ourselves to be out by
Incidentally, I suppose this is as good a point as
any to mention, since I've spoken of night, that the first
seminar I attended of Dr. Lockey ' s was at night. It was
Thursday nights. The other one that I attended most, that
of Dr. John Caughey — under whom I finished my doctorate
after Dr. Lockey's death — which I took for more than the
one year, also met at night. It never seemed natural to
me to attend a seminar during daylight hours. I understand
that some, at one time or another, have been held in the
morning, which would seem to me pretty awful. But I did
register for and take other seminars that were held in the
afternoon. I suppose some people would consider it an
advantage rather than a drawback, but I was going to say
the drawback [of an afternoon seminar] is that people may
have other courses scheduled or have to get to dinner or
something afterwards, so you can't keep on indefinitely;
whereas in the evening seminars, it's only the discretion
of the professor or the patience of the students or something
like that that controls how long it goes on.
Let's get to an actual meeting when a person is going
to give a report. In this room up on the third floor of
the library, there were four or six tables shoved together
to make one great big table in the form of a T. The person
giving the report had one end entirely to himself, the whole
top of the T, as it were; and Dr. Lockey sat at the bottom
of the T. If there were any visitors — I don't think there
was ever more than one at a time--the visitor usually sat
with Dr. Lockey at that end of the table. The other
members of the seminar were arranged up the two sides.
Usually the end position on each arm of the T was held
down by one of the more senior members of the seminar.
As the seminar started, or even a little bit before,
you would put at each place a copy of your outline and
your bibliography. The seminar met, if I remember correctly,
at seven-thirty, and it began quite promptly. You were
supposed to start out by discussing your bibliography very
briefly, to make some comment on it and perhaps pick out
two or three of the individual items about which to say
something as to their nature or their usefulness — or
perhaps their disappointing nature, if it turned out not
to be as suitable as you thought. Usually this getting
started and comment on the bibliography was supposed to
occupy about fifteen minutes. So by quarter to eight you
were supposed to settle down to start out to present your
As I will say in a moment, but let me make it definitely
clear, you had not written anything out. This was not a
written paper to be presented. This was to be presented
impromptu. You could have a typewritten or handwritten
outline. That is, in addition to the official outline
that you had, you could have a further one of your own
with some additional notes on it. But the idea was to do
it with as few notes as possible beyond the actual outline
that you presented officially. Certainly one was more
highly thought of in the seminar if he could give his
paper entirely from his outline without having to rely
on any further notes. Of course, in a paper delivered
orally in this v/ay, one doesn't quote as much as he would
in a written paper. But if you knew you were going to
want to make a specific quotation, you might either have
it written out on a piece of paper that you could read,
or perhaps even have the book with a marker in it there.
There was nothing wrong with having a book or two with
you from which you might read out a short passage. But
as I say, you were supposed to speak from your outline
Nothing was prescribed exactly as to the length,
but it was pretty well felt by everyone that you should
speak at least an hour and not more than an hour and a
quarter. Practically any one of the seminar reports fell
within the range from an hour to an hour and a quarter.
So you would start about quarter to eight, and you would
finish anywhere from quarter to nine to nine. Unless
there was something terribly drastic, there was no inter-
ruption in this. If you were the reporter that night,
you had the floor to yourself uninterruptedly to make
As soon as you finished, there was an intermission
of about ten to fifteen minutes. There were restrooms
on that same floor and places where one could step out
for a breath of air if he wished. Then the seminar would
Here again the pattern was very rigidly fixed. The
person who had given the preceding report was entitled
to commence the discussion. He would start out giving
his criticism of the talk that had just been given. It
was an advantage to be first, because everybody was
expected to make some intelligent criticism, and obviously
everybody had roughly the same criticisms in mind; so the
sooner that you got to speak your piece, the more chance
you had of contributing an original criticism rather than
just repeating what other commentators had said.
Now, the criticism was quite searching. I don't
remember any occasion [when] anyone took it personally at
all, but it was certainly rough and tough, and one had to
have a comparatively thick skin. Of course, there was
favorable criticism; often there would be good comments.
But of course, there were many that were not so favorable.
The other members of the seminar were entitled to criticize
any aspect of the presentation--the research that lay
behind it, or gaps in the research, the organization of
the topic, the presentation of it, the organization aspect
of the presentation, and also the sheerly verbal aspect.
(I'm afraid, for instance, what I'm saying tonight doesn't
speak too well for my training in Dr. Lockey ' s seminar,
because there are too many hems and haws and grasping
for words.) The ideal in the seminar was to flow along
very smoothly without hesitations. The grammar, pronun-
ciation, everything was subject for evaluation and criticism.
There were several of us in the seminar who were
hawks, as it were, on the subject of split infinitives.
Everybody in the seminar took notes on the paper as it
v.as being given, and every time the speaker split an
infinitive, you could see the pencils of at least three
or four of the members of the seminar adding another tick
to the little scoreboard that they had on their scratch
pad in front of them. Some of the people whose ear was
not acute said that they didn't see how we could hear
split infinitives, how we noticed them in verbal presen-
tation; but if that happens to be your "bag," as you might
say, one does hear them. So they were commented on along
with everything else.
Well, that is about it in the matter of the presentation
of the paper. As I say, you were expected to speak from
an hour to an hour and a quarter, and after the breather the
class met again. After the first person made his criticism,
then it was a free-for-all, and you leaped in as quickly as
you could, in order to get in your criticisms early in
the game. Dr. Lockey practically never said a word during
all of this. Sometimes he might say something in conjunction
with one of the remarks made by a member of the seminar,
but usually not. Usually he didn't say anything until
after everyone else had finished, and often not in that
case other than just a very general remark. If he felt
that the comments that had been made by the members of
the seminar covered the case adequately, he did not add
any particular further criticism himself.
He might then also ask for any comment from a visitor,
if there were visitors. I don't remember too well how
common this was. It wasn't very frequent. As I've already
said, when I was a senior, I visited the seminar myself
several times, if not weekly; and during later years,
when I was a member of it, there might be other oncoming
seniors or other people who came in from time to time,
although not very much. Occasionally there would be a
visiting scholar of some sort.
It was at Dr. Lockey ' s seminar that I first met Dr.
Henry R. Wagner. He came as a visitor on more than one
occasion, I'm quite sure. I remember one very definitely,
and I think, during that course of four years that I took
the seminar, there were perhaps three or four occasions
when Dr. Wagner was a guest. That was the time when he
was still active enough to be out. He was, of course,
driven--a driver brought him to the campus — but he was
able to come up the stairs to the third floor and to
partake of the evening's session. Particularly if it was
a subject having to do with something like Chile, in which
he had both interest and expertise. Dr. Lockey was very
apt to invite him.
So as I said when we first started on this, I'm very
grateful to have had this experience, because it certainly
was good training. Without meaning an unkindness to other
professors, I think it was better than practically any
other seminar that I ever took or of which I have heard.
[It trained] you not, perhaps, to think on your feet,
because it was based on studying you had already done.
It v/asn't pulling something out of your mind right at the
moment. But nevertheless [it trained one] in the initial
organization of a subject, and then the oral presentation
of it, and certainly standing up and slugging it out,
both in answer to your critics or when you were criticizing
somebody else's paper.
AXE: Were the speakers scheduled, or did you volunteer?
CARPENTER: It was scheduled. It had to be worked out
each semester, and I don't remember that there was any
necessary sequence among the students, although once the
pattern was a little bit set, it tended to be the same.
If you were near the beginning of one sequence, you'd
be near the beginning of the next sequence, so that you
wouldn't be too closely or too widely spaced.
It seems to me that the continuing members of the
seminar, especially when a summer vacation intervened,
used to pick their topics at the end of one school year,
before the next year started. That would mean that there
would be somebody ready to give a report by about the
second or third meeting of the seminar. Otherwise you'd
have to sit around and twiddle your thumbs while everybody
did research, and then everybody would be ready to make a
presentation at the same time. There were those, of course,
who would like to give up their other courses for a while
and concentrate on doing this and do it fast. So they
would be glad to give a paper soon, where others who
wanted to spread it out would rather be a little later.
As I remember, it worked out very well. I don't remember
in detail. But there was an overall scheduling. I think
that often a senior member or two of the seminar would
be working on their papers ahead of the beginning of the
semester, so that they would have something to present
fairly early in the semester.
AXE: Have you thought of any other visitors?
CARPENTER: No. To tell you the truth, I can't remember
anyone else by name. I don't think that any other members
of the history faculty attended. It was probably a matter
of protocol among the professors that you didn't sit in
on each other's courses. Of course, several members of
the department would be present for doctoral orals and
things like that, but not for seminar meetings. I just
can't, at the moment, remember any other visitor by name,
other than Dr. Wagner. Of course, it's probably not very
tactful to the ladies that I can't think of any of them.
AXE: Was there a Marie McSpadden, or was she in Dr.
Caughey's seminar? I know she was doing her work on
[William A.] Leidesdorff, so it must have been Caughey,
CARPENTER: Well, that would most likely be Dr. Caughey
who handled the California history, but I think not at
the time that I was taking it from him, after the Second
World War. She would probably have been somewhat earlier,
at the time that I was not in Caughey's seminar.
AXE: No, she was at a later period, in the forties.
CARPENTER: I don't place the name.
AXE: She came to the house several times, and Dr. Wagner
visited, I guess. Dr. Caughey's seminar then, too. I
think it was about the time [Wagner] got his [honorary]
doctorate, in '47.
CARPENTER: Yes. Well, it wouldn't have been Dr. Lockey's
seminar, because Dr. Lockey died about the summer of 1946.
AXE: Yes, and this was California history, anyway.
CARPENTER: Yes. I think that one of the persons who
was in the seminar when I very first took it was Marion
Parks, who was also at that time known as Marion Parks
Partridge.* I take it you recognize the name. Of course,
she was active in local history around here.
AXE: Oh, yes. Not only that, but she was Mr. Wagner's
assistant when he prepared the gala for the Historical
Society of Southern California in 1935 for their fifty-
*She was then married to Nelson Partridge. [E.H.C.]
CARPENTER: Yes, she was active in the affairs of that
society. She v^as also a research assistant of Dr. Lockey's.
That was the way I worked my v.'ay through my graduate
years, at least the ones before the war. After the war, I
had the GI Bill. But before the war, for those four years,
I was a research assistant. Mot to Dr. Lockey alone:
there were about five or six members of the history depart-
ment who had research grants, most of which were not very
large; so in order to achieve some results, they pooled
their resources. And Dr. Lockey and Dr. Caughey and Dr.
[Louis K.] Koontz and Dr. [Roland D.] Hussey and Dr.
[Charles] Mowat — I think those were all; there may have
been someone else--put their research grants in a common
fund. Dr. Lockey, incidentally, put up 50 percent of it.
He had a bigger grant than any of the rest of them. It
was sufficient to pay the salary of a full-time research
assistant. That was Marion Parks Partridge up until June
of '37. But she wanted, for some reason or other, to give
up the work. So an arrangement was made that she would
drop back from being the full-time assistant to being a
half-time assistant, and I took a half-time position.
For a short while, she and I split the position
between us. But very shortly, she decided to leave
entirely, and so she resigned or pulled out in some way.
And instead of my taking full time, which I didn't want,
the other half of the job was given to Harold Bierck,
who, I've already mentioned, was also working under Dr.
Lockey. So then for three or four years, Hal Bierck and
I each held down half of a research job. Since the bulk
of the money came from Dr. Lockey, of course the bulk
of the time went to him; and his office v;as the place
where the work was done. He, being a senior man, had a
larger office with more space than the other members of
the group; so we kept the materials in his office and did
our work in there.
It was mainly transcribing documents, often in photo-
stat form, that were borrowed on interlibrary loan from
the Library of Congress, photostats of documents from
European archives. Our work consisted mostly of trans-
cribing and sometimes translating those. And of course,
there was a good deal of proofreading involved, because
we would read the transcription back against the original
with the professor or someone else.
AXE: You came back to campus after the war, when?
CARPENTER: Well, I came back physically about April of
1946. I got out of the army, I think it was, in February
or March. I visited the campus, but it was then too late.
The semester was half-finished or more. It was too late
to register for that particular semester. I don't think
I wanted to, anyhow, exactly. But I saw Dr. Lockey at
I think I've already told you that there was a proposal
that he retire to Florida, and the university was very
liberal in saying that Murdoch and Bobb and I, the ones
who were farthest along with him, could actually go to
Florida and be officially in residence at the university.
I don't remember about Bernard Bobb, [but] Murdoch was
quite willing, if not anxious, to do this. I v;asn't
sure whether I wanted to or not and was having a little
hard time making up my mind during that summer, after the
end of that school year. But during the course of the
summer, almost as soon as he moved back to Florida, Dr.
Lockey died; so that made it unnecessary to think of
that as a program any further.
Then I just went back and reregistered at UCLA and
took Dr. Caughey's seminar. His was one of the seminars
in which the topics presented had no necessary relation
to each other, so the fact that there were three of us —
Bernard Bobb and Dick Murdoch were in it, too--giving
papers on Latin-American subjects rather than on Calif-
orniana didn't make any particular difference.
AXE: His seminar was conducted in quite a different style?
CARPENTER: Yes, I think so, because there was no coherence
in the papers from one person to the next. Everybody
worked on a topic in which he was interested, which
meant that you weren't able to criticize somebody's
paper as closely as you had been in Dr. Lockey 's seminar.
You might not have the faintest idea of his sources, or
the ones that he might have missed, or something like
that. You hadn't been working in the same area at all.
Of course, obviously you can make some criticisms of a
presentation, because you can certainly say whether a
person puts it over to you or not, whether he makes it
intelligible, and whether he seems to have covered all
the aspects of the subject. You can point out omissions
and things of that nature. And of course, you can certainly
still count the split infinitives, although I don't believe
we did that in Dr. Caughey's seminar.
AXE: Did you get your doctorate under Dr. Caughey?
AXE: When was that?
CARPENTER: Let's see. In June of '49. I came back in
September of '46 and I got the degree in June of '49.
AXE: It may be interesting here — I don't know whether
I should put this on or not — but Mr. Wagner at one time
owned the Leidesdorff papers, and knew a great deal about
Leidesdorff, and was about to write an article himself on
Leidesdorff, and turned these papers over to Miss McSpadden,
not the Leidesdorff papers per se, because he no longer had
them in his possession, but his notes on them and so forth.
Then — I can't remember for sure, but if I recall correctly —
she got married and moved to Arizona and never completed
CARPENTER: Well, I may have encountered her, but I don't
place the name.
AXE: He never heard any more about the papers, but he
did visit the seminar several times, and she came to the
house several times. Well, then, Ed, after you got your
doctorate, you went into library school right away, didn't
CARPENTER: Yes. As I guess you know, I've never been
particularly interested in teaching. The feeling, gener-
ally speaking, was that if you got a PhD in history, there
wasn't anything you could do except teach history someplace,
which I didn't particularly care to do. So I had been
giving some thought to the possible alternatives to teach-
ing. At that time, there were some positions for historians
in the National Park Service and perhaps some other govern-
ment agencies. There were a few historians employed by
private industries of one sort or another. I was thinking
possibly in terms of trying to find something in an area
such as that. During my last school year, before I completed
the doctorate, I had several conversations with Lawrence
Clark Powell, the UCLA librarian, whom I had known for some
time. He recruited me into library service — which wasn't
difficult, because, of course, when I was overseas during
the Second World War for a considerable length of time, I
found that the thing I missed was not Mom's apple pie but
access to a good research library and that sort of thing.
I was interested in getting into work with rare books.
Before I finished the doctorate, I had already spent a
year working in the rare-book department at the Huntington
Library, obviously at the bottom of the ladder at that time
because I v;as completely without experience. But that was
the idea. I took the job for experience [and] to find
out what rare-book work was like. After that sample, I
felt that it was something that I wanted to get into.
So v/hen I was about to finish the doctorate at UCLA,
Powell said to me that he was trying to establish a uni-
versity archive on the UCLA campus — there was already one
at the Berkeley campus--and he would be interested in taking
me on in that position if I were interested. He said it
would take him a year to get the position established and
in the budget, but on the other hand that would give me
time to go to library school. Of course, he knew me, and
he said as far as he was concerned, it didn't make any
difference whether I had a library school degree. He
knew what I could or couldn't do and what my potential-
ities were and so forth. But, as he pointed out, in a
state university or anything approximating civil service,
this sort of thing became a union card and practically
a prerequisite. [So] it really would be desirable to
have a library school degree.
I had the GI Bill on which to go to school, [and]
I assumed at that time — the principal library school in
California was, as it still is, the University of California
at Berkeley--that anybody who went to library school in
California would go to Berkeley. I made some reference
to this to Powell one day, and he said it didn't make any
difference to him. He said that USC was all right as far
as he v.'as concerned. As he said, the degree is more or less
a union card, and he was going to evaluate me or any other
potential employee on their own record and background. As
long as they satisfied the formal requirements of library
training, he didn't care from where the degree came.
He said, as a matter of fact, "If you want to go to
USC, which will mean you can continue to live at home and
stay in this area, I'll give you a job on Saturdays at the
Clark Library if you want." That was fine, and that worked
out very nicely. I went to the USC library school in the
school year of '49 and '50--the summer session of '49 and
the school year of '49 and '50 — and got my master's degree.
During that same period, I was working Saturdays at the
Clark Library, which, of course, gave me further rare-book
experience and also satisfied some of the library school
requirements for practical experience.
AXE: Somewhere in here, during the forties, didn't you
work at the Huntington?
CARPENTER: Yes, when I came back from the service in the
spring of 1946. In the fall, about the beginning of the
school year, I went to work at the Huntington Library in
the rare-book and manuscript reading room, which at that
time was staffed by the rare-book department. [I] had
also registered at UCLA to go on with my doctorate. But
by the end of that year, I had realized that getting the
doctorate would be a slow procedure if I did work at the
same time. It was feasible, because of the GI Bill, that
I work on the doctorate without employment at the same
time. So in September of '47, I registered again for
another school year at UCLA, [and] then about October of
'47 I resigned from the Huntington Library staff in the
After graduating from library school in June of '50,
I went to the UCLA library staff, as had been arranged.
But for reasons that I won't go into now, I didn't stay
there very long, and by that fall I was back again at the
Huntington Library, this time as an editorial assistant
in the publications department. Because I had completed
majors in both English and history, I was potentially
useful to the Huntington, [which] was publishing a
learned quarterly in just exactly those two fields.
AXE: How long, then, were you at the Huntington?
CARPENTER: Well, that time I went in the fall, again about
October of 1950, and I think it was either late '52 or
early '53 when I left them to go to the New York Public
Library to work on Noah Webster. I can't remember whether
it was just a little over two years or whether it was
nearer three years that I was there. I could find out,
but I don't have it in my mind at the moment.
AXE: Then you renewed your acquaintance with Gerald
McDonald at the New York Public when you went there?
He was already there.
CARPENTER: Yes, yes. He had worked there many years,
of course, and I'm sure he was instrumental in getting
me back there. But that's a separate story, and perhaps
we might leave that for another time, if that's all right
AXE: Well, sure.
APRIL 16, 1972
CARPENTER: Tonight I think I'll talk a little bit about
my ov/n collection. I've been looking again into Mr.
Wagner's Sixty Years of Book Collecting ; and Will [William
W.] Clary, who died recently, had put out his fifty years,
I think. I don't have quite forty years yet, so I probably
shan't sit down and write up my collections for a v/hile.
But if you want to know something about what I collect and
how I got started, perhaps we might deal a little with that.
I went to what's now called Los Angeles City College--
in those days it was known as Los Angeles Junior College--
from 19 32 to 19 34. While I was there — it must have been
towards the end, probably the school year of '33-' 34, when
I was eighteen years old--a lecture series on book collect-
ing was given at the campus of the college. A professor
in the English department named Thaddeus Brenton, who
was quite a character, sponsored this series of lectures.
There were four of them. It was all [done by] Davv?son's
Book Shop, and I can remember that two of them were given
by Ernest Dawson — they used to call him "Father" Dawson--
himself. One was given by Leura Dorothy Bevis, who was on
the staff at that time. And I can't remember for sure
who gave the fourth talk; it may have been Eleanor Reed,
although as I remember her, I don't think she would be the
sort who v/ould be apt to speak very much in public. But
I know that Ernest Dawson gave two of them, and Miss Bevis
They v;ere a general presentation of book collecting,
with actual things brought and passed around — which, of
course, is a very good pedagogic technique. Certainly
the bug bit me very hard.*
I had had a few books as a child and then as a teen-
ager, but not [through] any conscious collecting. They
were just what is usually called an accumulation. I began
going into Dawson's Book Shop and other bookshops in the
middle thirties. I don't remember too well just what I
was getting. I suppose you would say I was still accumu-
lating rather than seriously collecting then. I can remem-
ber buying scrappy things of one sort or another. I
bought a little Elzevir just to have an Elzevir book.
It's been rebound and badly cut down, but I wasn't critical
enough at the time to know the dif ference--it was inexpen-
sive. That, of course, was the time of the Depression,
and things were often very reasonable in price, especially
in view of Ernest Dawson's well-known custom of marking
books down drastically when they didn't sell. I got many
*I have since looked up the facts on this lecture series
in my diary, and find I am wrong in stating that Ernest
Dawson gave two talks. The series was: Tuesday, March 1,
1932, Ernest Dawson; Tuesday, March 8, Leura Dorothy Bevis;
Tuesday, March 15, Geraldine Kelly (later Mrs. Benjamin F.
Kirby) ; Thursday, March 17, Jake Zeitlin. [E.H.C.]
wonderful things from the twenty-five- and fifty-cent
tables in front of Dawson's Book Shop in those days.
I do remember getting, at that time, two items which
were "association" copies. This became very much an interest
of mine later, so these are the germ, perhaps, of that.
Unfortunately I did not keep records at that time of the
date of purchase and the price paid and so forth, so that
now I do not know which of the two was the first associa-
tion item I bought. They actually both were in literature
rather than in the associations that I got into later,
which I'll mention later. One of them was an inscribed
copy of one of the plays by Henry Arthur Jones, an English
playwright, and the other was a presentation copy from
the American author Harry Leon Wilson. I still have them
both, but as I say, unfortunately I don't know which of
them was the earlier acquisition.
During this time I had gone on to UCLA and was taking
history — as an undergraduate, then as a graduate student.
During that period, I did a good deal of course work and
seminar work in Latin-American history. I've already told
you a good deal about the work with Dr. Lockey and his
seminar. That seminar and other courses brought me into
contact with many of the bibliographers of early Americana,
such as Joaquin Garcia Icazbalceta and Jose Toribio Medina
cind Henry Harrisse and many others of that nature. And I
became rather interested in them and eventually came to
collect all of these men and others.
Perhaps my first purchase of the works of these men —
it's unfortunately not an association copy--was the Spanish
translation by Garcia Icazbalceta of Prescott's Conquest
of Mexico , v;hich was published in Mexico in the middle of
the nineteenth century. I found it in the Argonaut Book
Shop in Los Angeles on Sixth Street. I shan't reminisce
now, as Ward Ritchie and many others have covered that
subject thoroughly, of the wonderful sequence of old book-
shops that there used to be on Sixth Street in those days.
I found this thing at what was then a rather stiff price
for rae--something like five dollars — and I was a little
hesitant about whether or not to buy it. I remember men-
tioning it to Mr. Wagner and asking if he thought that I
should buy it. Of course, very properly, he didn't give
me a yes or no, or say that he thought I should or thought
I shouldn't. (I've discovered, of course, that one can
practically never say this to another collector. All you
can do is perhaps give him some of the elements that might
enable him to make his own decision, because the purchase
of anything for one's collection has to be his own decision,
of course. Do I really want it? Do I really need it?)
At any rate, on the basis of what Mr. Wagner said, I
purchased it. One of the things that he said was that it
was an extremely scarce book. He certainly was right in
that, because I've never seen another copy, so it was
fortunate that I bought that one v;hen I did.
This leads me to what became my major collecting
field, in which I think I can seriously say that I am a
specific collector. [This is a field] where I have tried
to use intelligence and order and sequence and application
in making a coherent gathering of books rather than just
an accumulation. Although it is my major field and one
in which I think I may say I have a pretty good collection,
I never have been able to decide on what to call it. People
ask me what my collecting field is, and I have a difficult
time saying. The nearest I can come to it, which I don't
say publicly because it's such a barbarous word, would be
something like "Americana-ana."
As I said, I was interested in these bibliographers
particularly of early history of the New World and of the
United States and so forth. I also realized, in the late
thirties, that I was never going to be another John Carter
Brown, or Henry Huntington, or even Hubert Howe Bancroft,
or any of the other people who were able to put tremendous
air.ounts of money into their collections. So I decided that
if I couldn't collect like these men, I would collect them,
collect association items of the great collectors of
I started out with the collectors of Americana and
gradually broadened — my interest, I suppose, was there
all the time--this area to include the great dealers who
have been noted for handling of Americana. Some of them,
like [Bernard] Quaritch, have been noted in other fields,
too. [This field also includes] curators, custodians,
and librarians of great Americana collections, and editors
of Americana as well. Of course, many of these overlap.
The editors and the bibliographers are often the same
people, and sometimes the collectors [are], too. So it's
the great collectors, librarians, dealers, bibliographers,
editors of Americana.
In a few cases, as I'll mention later, I try and get
anything I can by the person, or some of the more interest-
ing things. But generally speaking, I haven't acquired,
certainly not at any great expense, anything unless it is
an association item. In other words, there are quite a
few works which I am interested in and might like to have,
especially newly published works, but I usually do not
buy until I have an opportunity of getting an association
copy. An example of this, for instance, is the biography of
[A.S.W.] Rosenbach that came out a few years back, which
I got from the library and read as soon as I could after it
was published and enjoyed it very much. But I did not
purchase one until I had an opportunity of acquiring one
that had been inscribed by one of the authors to a promi-
nent book person.
I suppose this is as good a place as any to expand a
little further on this point. I'm talking about my own
collections, more or less, at present; so I don't want
to go into the theory and operations of building up this
collection. I want to point out a lot of what I have been
able to get depends on--this is a clumsy way of saying it--
availability . Some of these people are very easy to find.
It's very easy to find inscribed presentation copies or
books from the libraries of certain people. Others, it's
next to impossible. Some of the important collectors
left their collections intact in one way or another, so
that they have never come on the market; and unless they
form an institution which has disposed of duplicates at
one time or another, or perhaps the man himself did during
his lifetime, there's no possibility of acquiring a book
that belonged to them.
For almost all of the people in whom I'm really
interested, I have been able to find one sort or another
of an association item. But in most cases, I am not
trying to accumulate a large number of items. Well,
for instance, take an editor of Americana like John
Gilmary Shea, in the middle of the nineteenth century.
I have one pamphlet or small book of his, very nicely
inscribed. That's enough, as far as I am concerned. If
I came across another one at a reasonable figure, I might
very well buy it, but I don't feel I need any more; whereas
in some other people, of course, I'd like to have more.
And in a few cases, I want to have everything I can get
my hands on, which I'll mention in a moment.
This is another benefit, to me at least, of collec-
ting association items, and that is you never have a
complete collection. And also, you never have to worry
or apologize about having more than one copy of the same
work. After all, a man may have inscribed a hundred
copies of one of his books, and if you really want and
can get all of them, that's fine. I have as many as six
or seven copies [of] some of Henry R. Wagner's works which
have one sort of association or another. As I say, maybe
I'm not correct, but I think this is perfectly justifi-
able within my frame of collecting. So collecting these
association copies, there are four or five men for whom
I try to get everything.
In [these] case[s] I extend my collecting to include
nonassociation copies, too, because my chances of finding
an association copy of every single one of the man's
writings are next to nil, of course. As far as that goes,
I suppose in most cases my chances of getting every single
one of the man's writings in any form are not very good,
although I've come pretty close to it in the case of
Henry R. Wagner, who is the youngest of the group for
whom I do "absolute" collecting, as it were.
The others in this group include one that I men-
tioned at the beginning of this discussion, Joaquin Garcia
Icazbalceta. I have very few of his publications. That
is probably the weakest of my men in this area, but I
do have one very nice presentation copy of his. Jose
Toribio Medina is another. I have very little Medina
material and [am] particularly weak on true association
material on Medina, but he is a person in whom I'm very
much interested. Now there are two more in which I have
very strong holdings, with a fair proportion of them being
association copies. The earlier of these is Henry Harrisse-
I was able, particularly in Paris during the war, to acquire
some very nice Harrisse items, and [I] have been able to
add to them since.
The other, most of which I got comparatively recently,
is Wilberforce Eames. I had some Eames material already,
but a couple of years ago, when my good friend Gerald
McDonald at the New York Public Library died, he willed
me his Eames collection--which , of course, improved my
standing in that area very considerably. He [McDonald] had
been a colleague of Mr. Eames in Mr. Eames ' s later years
and had many presentation copies and association items
of one sort or another. Actually, many of Eames 's earlier
writings are very scarce and hard to get, and I don't
have a very strong holding. But what I have is very good,
Well, I think that's enough about the — as I say, a
horrible word — "Americana-ana. "
In the same period that I began this, in the later
thirties and early forties when I was....
AXE: When you said editors, did you mean editors of
periodicals such as [H.L.] Mencken and that type? Or
what did you mean by editors?
CARPENTER: No, I was thinking more of people who have
edited old manuscripts for publication or prepared modern
editions of earlier works. Mencken is an interesting
person, but I don't collect Mencken, for example.
AXE: Oh, I see.
CARPENTER: I gave one example whom I consider as an
editor, John Gilmary Shea, who published many of the
Jesuit relations and other Catholic material of that
sort. VJhile you were asking me the question, I thought
of another example or two. For instance, I'd be interested
in Frederick Webb Hodge, anyhow, but particularly
Hodge's edition of [Fray Alonso de] Benavides's Memorial
[of 1634], you see. [He is an example of] someone who
took an older work, whether manuscript or printed, and
prepared a new edition with annotations, often adding a
bibliography and so forth.
Incidentally, mentioning Hodge, I might say that in
my coverage of Americanists, I also include the anthro-
pologists who have been particularly interested or connect-
ed with Americana as well. There are others, as I say,
who have done primarily editing of historical texts, you
see. That's what I mean, rather than [editors like Mencken]
Of course, some of the people that I am interested in
have been editors of learned journals.
Another one for whom I happen to have a fair amount
of fairly good material, a more modern man although he's
gone now, is Carl [I.] Wheat, who, in addition to his own
writings and collecting, was also the editor of historical
publications. So that's v;hat I mean by editors within
AXE: And printers, too? Or that's a special collection?
CARPENTER: Yes, I'm going to come to that. The [point]
I was just starting when you asked me a question was that
during this same period I made some purchases — again hardly
justifiable to call it a real collection--of general Western
Americana and Californiana, and I have a small collection
in that line: a few things that, perhaps, may be rarities,
but most of them more or less standard things; and a small
working library for my own use.
I might say, in that connection, that I have never
really tried to build up very much of a working library.
I know that many historians and collectors who also write
have such a good library in their own home that they often
don't need to leave their home to write an article or a
monograph. But, as I say, I have not really tried to do
that, because so far I've been fortunate in either being
actually employed at or very close to a major library,
and have had the resources of the UCLA Library or the
New York Public Library or the Huntington Library or
something like that practically at my fingertips. Of
course, I couldn't get at them in the middle of the night,
perhaps, but [a large library has been] normally available
to me; so I haven't felt any need to buy a set of [Joseph]
Sabin, for example, or the particularly expensive things
of that nature, because I don't feel that I need one on
my own shelf. (Now, of course, if a nice association
set of Sabin came along....) Incidentally, I know where
Harrisse's set is, and I would love to get hold of that,
but I don't think I could afford it. I think the owner
would sell it, but that would be an expensive item.
AXE: VJhere is it?
CARPENTER: A dealer in Paris has it. Although he ' s a
dealer, he theoretically doesn't want to sell it because
he's using it as a bibliographical research tool. Of
course, Harrisse died long before Sabin was finished,
so it includes only about two-thirds of the set as it
was finally published in complete form.
AXE: Does it have marginal notes?
CARPENTER: I don't remember whether it does or not.
As a matter of fact, I don't remember whether I ever
looked inside it or not. It has Harrisse's initials
on the binding; I remember that [from] seeing it on the
shelf. Max Besson is the man in Paris who has it, or
had it when I was there. Of course, that's twenty-five
years ago; heaven knows where it may be now. I've often
thought that he might be willing to trade his incomplete
Harrisse set for a complete nonassociation set, but I've
never tried for that.
The point that I'm getting at now is that I haven't
tried to build up a general working library, because I
would rather put the money into association copies. Of
course, many of them can be used as v.'orking tools, and
I often have occasion to refer to some of these. But I
buy them as association rather than as working tools.
Then also, during that period, I began a slight
interest in printers and printing. Tonight I'm not
well enough organized to think it all out, not well enough
prepared, but I certainly had met some printers in that
time. [I] was aware of some of their work. I certainly
must have been aware of Ward Ritchie and his work here
in the Los T^geles area. I was somewhat acquainted with
the Grabhorns and their work. That might have been,
perhaps, from knowing Mr. Wagner and his Grabhorn collec-
tion and some of the things the Grabhorns printed in
connection with him. I do remember meeting Gregg Anderson,
Larry Powell introducing us, at an exhibit at UCLA on one
occasion before the war. So I had a slight interest and
I think had even then begun to accumulate a few things
on California printers. I'll touch on that a little bit
later when I get to the postwar period.
Now I've gotten up to 1941, [when] I left UCLA to
enter the service. [I] v;as gone for five years, which
made a very definite break. Hovv/ever, it didn't mean a
break in collecting activities, because it wasn't too
long after I got in the service that I was able to begin
collecting, although along some new lines.
We made the landing in Morocco in November of 1942,
and the section of the infantry division headquarters
in which I worked was allotted a confiscated building
which had been occupied by the Italian armistice commis-
sion in Morocco. Some of the other fellows that got in
there about the same time I did were grabbing pistols
and typewriters and radios, things like that, like mad.
But none of them bothered to pick up the books. Well,
the cultural attache of that particular armistice commis-
sion had had quite a few nice books on Moroccan art and
architecture, so I liberated those. I later was able
to send [them] home, and I still have [them] as a small
collection to which I've added a little bit on [the]
ethnology and art and architecture, fine arts and things
like that, of Morocco. I left some of the books that
were paperbound with French friends in Morocco who had
them bound by modern Moroccan binders and sent them to
my home later.
Of course, by this time, I was an inveterate collec-
tor. I also have the librarian's mind for accumulating
a run of something like a periodical and making sure
that I have each successive number and they're in order.
Of course, I began collecting the Stars and Stripes . I
was in the Mediterranean theater, which v.'as an area where
editions stopped and started with great frequency, some
editions running to only tv;o or three numbers. So I had
a field day. I was not in the position to get some of
them, but I was able to get a great many; and so I brought
back from overseas a very substantial collection of the
World War II editions of the Stars and Stripes . Later,
as a matter of fact, [I] acquired a very fine set of the
original issues of First World War Stars and Stripes , so
that I've got quite a good Stars and Stripes collection.
Bill Mauldin, who cartooned on the Stars and Stripes
and was the Bruce Bairnsfather of the 7\merican forces in
the Second VJorld War, cartooned on several of these editions
in the Mediterranean [and] had a hand in getting them out
himself. He also published, in the theater, various
pamphlets of his cartoons, which I made sure that I got
at the time. Some of them are now difficult to find.
Incidentally, at Gerald McDonald's death, in addition
to his Eames collection, he also left me his Bill Mauldin
collection. A fair proportion of it was duplication,
but he had some things that I did not; so that strengthened
that collection as well.
After the war, as a result of having been in the
Mediterranean theater, I collected, not assiduously, a few
of the published accounts of generals and admirals and
newspapermen, people who were there, particularly those
who had a connection with the Third Infantry Division.
Also, I have a collection of novels laid in the Mediter-
ranean theater during the Second V7orld War.
I was hospitalized for a while. I was in Italy,
but it was so soon after the landings there were no base
hospitals set up; so I was evacuated back to North Africa,
and I was in the hospital in North Africa for a while.
I remember — I don't know whether I still have the thing
or not, I suppose I do — that one of the things I did
while I was in the hospital was to write myself sort of
a memorandum about book collecting and what I was after
and what I ought to do after the war and so forth. I
remember that I swore a mighty oath that I would not
collect Grabhorn. I knew Grabhorn was already expensive,
and I think I may have even have guessed at how much more
expensive it was going to become and, of course, how dif-
ficult to find the scarcer ones and so forth. So I
remember making the decision that I would not collect
Grabhorn, which, as so many plans of mice and men, was
upset a little later--as I'll mention if I remember to.
AXE: Is this outline contained either in your diary
CARPENTER: No. I don't think I copied it into my war
journal. And I certainly couldn't lay my hands on it
at the moment, but I've got a tremendous amount of my
war material in the cellar. I think I could probably
find it if I really had to.
AXE: Oh, it's in the cellar.
CARPENTER: Well, I think so, yes. I certainly hope so.
I wound up my overseas experience with four months in
Paris--which, of course, was wonderful. This gave me
some additional opportunities. The Americans were very
well paid in relation to the French, and I had high
enough rank so that I had fair amount of money at my
disposal. And so I was able to do quite a little collec-
ting in Paris.
One area--I don't remember just when I started on
this and may have had some of this before the war, but I
certainly added to it when I was in Paris--was museology,
the history and theory and operation of museums. I have
not a substantial collection but a shelf or more of books
on that subject. Quite a few of them are ones that I
got in Paris at this time, which was the last couple of
months of '45 and the first couple of months of '46.
I've indirectly mentioned already Max Besson's bookstore
and the fact that he had some Karrisse material. I also
got some other things from him, mostly Harrisse and one
particularly nice item which is sort of a collecting anec-
dote in itself. I think tonight I won't try to go in for
anecdotes, so we'll leave that story for another time.
One thing that was particularly available in Paris
was that at that tirne--just after the war--they v;ere
beginning to ease restrictions and rationing of such
things as paper. So everybody in France was rushing
into print with "what I did during the war," you know--
particularly , of course, those who had been in the Resis -
tance . So practically daily there would be a new book
on the book stalls and bookstores on the underground and
the Resistance and the German occupation and so forth.
I thought this was a wonderful bibliographical opportunity,
so I started to compile a bibliography of these. Then
it occurred to me, well, [when] you get back to the United
States, a bibliography of these won't be of much help to
anybody who wants to see them in the future, because many
of them, of course, will be very difficult to find by
that time. I'd better really be collecting them. So
then I just started out wholesale purchasing them, to
the result that I brought back a small bookcase full of
these, mostly publications of Paris of that period in
'45 and '46. I did manage to pick up one piece of actual
underground literature that had been printed during the
German occupation. Of course, I've added a few items
to this collection since I came home.
While I was in Europe, I had a few days in London,
and that was an excellent opportunity, too. I visited
a good many bookstores including, I remember, Maggs
Brothers. That added quite a few little things, inclu-
ding some of the 7unericana association. Although I said
I wasn't going to tell any anecdotes, I might just mention
one of those experiences for which one kicks himself ever
after. In a basement of one of the bookstores in London —
I don't remember now which one at all--I saw a presentation
copy from Obadiah Rich. At least I assume it was; it was
signed "0. Rich," and I think it must have been Obadiah
Rich, who was a pioneer English dealer and bibliographer
in Americana. And I didn't buy it; it was a modest
enough sum, but I didn't buy it. Of course, within a
week or so, I was very regretful of this. Even if I'd
remembered which bookstore it was, I couldn't have written
for it because I'd found it in a pile of stuff in a base-
ment or something and would never have been able to tell
them how to find it.
So I've kicked myself for about twenty-five years,
because it was only within the last couple of years that
I had another opportunity to find a Rich association item —
which I did purchase fairly recently, so I now have one.
But as I say, I had to wait about twenty-five years because
I let that first opportunity go by.
Well, I came back after the war early in 1946, then
picked up and resiomed and continued all of these collecting
activities that I've been mentioning. Soon after I got
back, I was making fairly frequent trips to San Francisco
and met printers and collectors and other people up there.
I already knew some because in my days of studying Latin-
American history I had on occasion gone up there to use
the Bancroft Library. As a matter of fact, in the summer
of 1940 I went to the summer session at Berkeley just so
I could say that I had studied under Bolton and taken
his seminar that summer. So I had met some of these
I don't remember whether I met him before I came
back from the service or not; but if not, it was very
shortly after that I met Francis Farquhar and had a very
nice visit in his home in Berkeley. He was, as you know,
a very generous sort of person. As we wandered around the
library and particularly a sort of workroom in the back
where various things were piled up, he would keep pulling
off the shelves and handing me one or another pieces of
Grabhorn ephemera until I had a tremendous fistful of
Grabhorn ephemera. So, bang! went my resolution not to
collect Grabhorn, because here I was with quite a good
holding just from that one evening with Francis Farquhar.
Shortly after that, I joined the Rounce and Coffin
Club in Los Angeles and then, not too many years later,
joined the Roxburghe Club in San Francisco and the
Zamorano Club in Los Angeles. All three of these organi-
zations have been very active in passing out keepsakes.
many of which were, in the old days, printed by the
Grabhorns, so that I have, at least in the ephemera area,
gotten together quite a good accumulation of Grabhorn.
I have not strived for completeness in any sense, and
especially not in the hardbound books, of which I have
only a few. From those memberships, I got not only a
lot of Grabhorn but of course a tremendous amount of
ephemera and more substantial material, too, from other
printers and other writers in areas in which I'm interested-
and, I must admit, some from writers in areas in which
I'm not particularly interested either.
This goes back to the war indirectly, because there
was another collecting area that I developed as an upshot
of the war. One of the places that I was stationed during
the war — as a matter of fact, I was there on two different
occasions — was an Italian town, which is a suburb of
Naples, named Pozzuoli. (In the Roman days it was known
as Puteoli.) I was interested in the local history of
any place where I went, particularly when there were ruins
there. It happens that Pozzuoli has an important amphi-
theater. I think it was the second largest amphitheater
in the Roman world, something like that. Obviously, as
you might gather, being the antiquarian sort I am, I was
the one to whom all the fellows in my outfit turned for
information. You know: "Hey, Doc, what's this place and
what's that place and what are these ruins about?" So as
soon as we got to Pozzuoli, I read up various Italian and
French guidebooks that I could get my hands on and versed
myself a little bit in the history of Pozzuoli, especially
in terms of what was to be seen there. There was nothing
to be acquired.
Not long after the war, however, in an English book-
seller's catalog, one day I saw an eighteenth-century
guidebook--! 'm not sure that I have the exact sequence
here right, but this is the general drift--of Pozzuoli
for a few shillings, which I thought would be an interesting
little souvenir of my having been there. So I sent for it
and got it. A few weeks or months later, in another Eng-
lish bookseller's catalog, I saw a seventeenth-century
guidebook to Pozzuoli, for a few shillings again; and so
I sent for that and bought it. Then later, I saw some
other book on the ruins of Pozzuoli, or something like
that, and I bought that.
Of course, the first thing you know, I was hooked
and began collecting what I usually call "Pozzuolana"
or I suppose "Puteolana, " to the extent that I now have
quite a sizable collection. I also am in the position
that I think Mr. Wagner found himself in collecting six-
teenth-century Mexican imprints: that is, that the market
has galloped far beyond me. Even though there's no one
else, as far as I know, specifically collecting Pozzuoli
material, there are enough collectors collecting general
Italian material, or sixteenth-, seventeenth-, eighteenth-
century materials, or whatever it is, that the prices on
many of these things have gone up just absolutely fantas-
tically. I can afford to make additions to it only very
occasionally now, although actually this is offset by the
fact that it's only extremely rarely now that I find any-
thing offered for sale that I don't already have. I don't
mean that there's plenty that I don't have, but it doesn't
show up on the market.
AXE: Is it anywhere near Pompeii?
CARPENTER: Yes, it's not far from Pompeii. Actually Pompeii
is a suburb of Naples. It's a little farther away and it's
to the east. Pozzuoli is to the west. I don't know what
it would be in actual mileage--I suppose twenty-five,
thirty miles apart. It was not affected by the eruption
of Mount Vesuvius that buried Pompeii; but it's had,
literally, its ups and downs, because it's the classic
spot in geology to study--I believe the word is — "brady-
seism, " which is the rise and fall of coastline, in this
case because of volcanic action and so forth. As a matter
of fact, there was a large Roman naval base on Cape Miseno
which forms the outer point of the bay of the Gulf of
Pozzuoli. It was from that naval base that Pliny the
Elder sailed for Pompeii to observe the eruption. And,
if you remember, he lost his life because he either came
in too close or stayed too long and was caught in the, as
we would say nowadays, fallout.
I've already mentioned my museology collection.
Now, this goes back, perhaps, to my earliest days of
book collecting, although I wasn't thinking quite so
much of book collecting in those days. I have a very
strong holding in the publications of the Southwest
Museum, because I've been a member of that ever since
I was a boy. I have a complete set of the Master Key ,
their publication, which is now a quarterly. I have a
complete set of their published papers in the original
editions. Several of those have been reprinted in recent
years; but I acquired almost all of them at the time that
they came out, so that my set is all of original editions
rather than the reprints. I've passable holdings in some
other museums as well.
Also, of course, I've been a member for a great many
years of one or another historical society, and this has
given me substantial runs of their quarterlies and some
of their other publications, although I'm far from having
anywhere near all the publications of, for instance, the
California Historical Society. I do have a complete run
of the quarterly of that society for the first forty years
or so because I was able, through the help and interest
of Francis Farquhar, to purchase Henry Wagner's bound
file of the first thirty or so years — which, of course,
is a very important acquisition, as far as I'm concerned.
Not only is it a file of the magazine, but it's Mr.
Wagner's copy with some annotations; and, of course,
I'm delighted to have that.
When I spoke of printing earlier, I was thinking
more or less in terms of what is or what purports to be
fine printing and so forth. But of course, I have some
other interests in printing as well, place imprints. I
have done a certain amount of collecting of early Los
Angeles and early California imprints. Now those are
both [expensive] areas, particularly the broader matter
of California imprints; and if you go back to the Mexican
days, to the Zamorano imprints, of course, that's outside
my class entirely. But I do have some sprinkling of the
California imprints of the  50s and -60s and -70s.
Some of them are of interest for the printing and illus-
tration or binding, something like that. And [I] also
[have] a fair sprinkling of early Los Angeles imprints.
Then there are one or two special pockets. For a while,
when I was a boy, we lived in the town of Sierra Madre,
in the foothills here near Pasadena, and I have a collec-
tion of Sierra Madre imprints which I think is a fairly
good one. Of course, the catch there is there's no
checklist of them. I've made a list of all that I know,
which to a large extent equals my collection. It's
possible that there are plenty more that I don't know,
but I think it's not likely, so that I probably have a
very large percentage of what there is to be had.
Belonging to the Rounce and Coffin Club, the Roxburghe
Club, and the Zamorano Club [has] brought me into contact
with not only established printers (I won't try and list
any of them by name, because betv/een the San Francisco
Bay Area and Los Angeles I could name a great many) , but
also with some lesser-known printers or--you might be cold-
blooded about it--one-shot printers that may have done
one or two things and not much else. In some cases, as
I've already indicated, I acquired some things as keepsakes
from those groups. I also have made it a point on my own
to try and locate and keep up with and get examples of the
work of some of these printers, who perhaps can hardly
be defined as fine printers but are of interest in
one way or another.
I'm particularly interested in printing on the true,
real handpress, and I do make an effort to get any examples
I can of printing that has been done on a handpress in
California in modern times. In one or two cases, I think
this has led me to--I suppose they're really not signif-
icant--collections of interest to me and instances where
I probably have as good a holding as anybody, just on the
basis that nobody else cares, I suppose.
For instance, many people, I think, will be acquainted
with the name of Wilder Bentley, by now a retired professor
at San Francisco State College, who over the years has had
quite a little bit to do with printing. [He] operated,
with his wife, a handpress in the 1940s. His son, when
a boy, did some of the printing with his father. Well,
the son, usually called VJilder Eentley, Jr., is nov; of
course a grown inan and has done some quite interesting
work in more recent times, a little on the offbeat side.
He's a little on the flower people or "hip" side, some-
thing of that nature. He has printed several things,
and I have made a particular effort to get hold of those.
Through being personally acquainted v;ith him, [I] have had
the chance to get most of them, so that I have, I'm sure,
as good a collection as anybody of Wilder Bentley, Jr.
Then there was a young man whom I never met because
he died before my time, died quite young, named Jack Gannon,
who worked for the Grabhorn Press back in the 1930s. I
got interested in him through something written about him
by Helen Gentry, and I started trying to collect him.
His total output was perhaps six items, and I got three
or four of them without very much trouble and then had
quite a little difficulty finding the last one or two.
I solicited the help of David Magee, a San Francisco
bookseller. Because these things were produced in San
Francisco, it seemed most likely the copies would be there.
He exercised considerable ingenuity and not only found me
an item or two that I needed but also managed to talk Ed
Grabhorn into parting with his filing folder on Jack Gannon,
which included some little etchings done by Gannon, some
letters from him to Grabhorn, and some proofs and things
like that. So again, I think I probably have as good a
collection as anyone of Jack Gannon.
Well, of course, I've got other collections of one
sort or another. If you didn't know it to start out with,
you certainly know now that I scatter my fire considerably.
I just can't resist starting a lot of little things here
and there. Speaking of starting things, I have one that
I certainly have to call a stillborn collection if you can
even justify calling it a collection at all. That is that
I was in Sicily during the war; after I had the Pozzuoli
collection well under way, I thought I would start a
similar collection for Sicily. But after acquiring about
only one book, an eighteenth-century travel book, Brydone' s
Travels , I decided that that was just too large an area.
Too many people have written about Sicily over the cen-
turies, and so I have never carried that more than beyond
one or two titles.
But there are other areas. For instance, again
an offbeat thing and again perhaps I shouldn't go to the
extent of calling it a real collection, because it's just
an accumulation of these items as I've come across them —
I haven't made any effort to go out and buy the ones that
I know about; I've only just picked up what I saw for sale
or was able to acquire somehow--is mystery stories
that involve rare books and manuscripts. Now, of course,
there are some in which references to rare books and manus-
cripts are tangential, but I'm interested primarily in
those in which they are an integral part of the story.
Probably the best-known example is a mystery called Fast
Company by a pseudonymous writer named Marco Page. There
are many others. One which I have read but of which I do
not have a copy is by the distinguished biblical scholar
Edgar J. Goodspeed, who let down his hair among his
serious studies by writing a book called the Curse in the
Colophon , which is about a chase in the Mediterranean
after biblical manuscripts/ of course.
Like practically everyone who was interested in such
areas as I've outlined, I'm interested in books on printing
and bibliography, so I have a small shelf or two of things
in this area. Some of it is history of libraries or histories
of particular presses, particularly in relation to California,
but I have some general things too. I've never been a
very strong collector of bookplates. I have very little
bookplate literature, but I have some actual bookplates.
I have been interested in the bookplates of the collectors
of Americana and Western Americana, also some of these
librarians and dealers and other collectors that I've men-
tioned. I have a fair scattering of those, either in the
books themselves or sometimes loose, but I don't really
consider that a collection. I certainly don't consider
myself a bookplate collector.
Then [there is] another little offbeat matter. I
can't remember now when I got started on this; I could do
a little checking and find out. I don't believe I did
anything about it till after the war; I'm quite sure not.
Again, it's a little hard to put succinctly, but what it
is is books and tracts and pamphlets printed in English
in the Low Countries in the seventeenth century. [laughter]
The reason for this is that I'm a descendant of Elder William
Brewster of the Mayflower. The Pilgrim group, when they
were in Holland in the Dutch interlude betv;een England and
the New World, operated a press, a more or less underground
press in Leiden. Brewster is supposed to have been one of
the active figures involved in it. As a matter of fact,
in a couple of the more public works his name appears in
the imprint. So this gave me a certain interest in this.
When I had an opportunity to purchase one of the books from
the Pilgrim Press, I did so. I later purchased a second,
so that I have two. It's not known exactly what their
output is, because some of the things are dubious and some
may have disappeared entirely; but the standard work on
the subject lists twenty-five titles, or something like
that, of which I've been able to acquire two. I don't
imagine I'll be able to get much more, because if they
come on the market now they are very expensive.
When I got to looking into it, there were other presses
in Leiden and Amsterdam and a place called Goricum and
several spots in the Low Countries where there were
English churches and religious communities that had left
England for one reason or another. Often they printed
their pastors' sermons or controversial works or one
thing and another. So there's quite a respectable little
area there, and I have twenty or thirty items that fall
within that category.
Also, of course, at a different period, it was the
Catholics instead of the Protestants who were refugees,
[and] there was printing in English in Catholic centers
on the continent, particularly Rheims, where the first
English-language Catholic New Testament was printed, and
St. Omer, where there was, I believe, a Jesuit college-
There were a couple of centers of printing, and I have
one or two very slight examples of that, but those are
very expensive. They turn up once in a while in English
dealers' catalogs, but they're quite expensive, and I
have not cared to invest substantially in that.
I've been interested also over these many years in
the American Indian, and particularly the Southwestern
Indian. I've made a few trips with considerable pleasure
into New Mexico and Arizona and seen some of the Indian
towns and some of the Indian tribes. I have a few baskets
and rugs and things like that. I have been interested in
the modern school of Indian painting, particularly watercolor.
rather than oil painting that has been quite commonly
done with artists like Harrison Begay and various others.
I would like very much to collect this sort of thing; but
in the first place, I don't have the money, and in the
second place, I don't have the wall space, either. I had
enjoyed seeing these things in dealers' shops or in art
galleries and art exhibits and so forth but had not made
any attempt [to start a collection] . I had one or two
very small ones which I picked up inexpensively on these
trips, but really nothing at all in this line until Clara
Lee Tanner's book on Southwest Indian artists came out.
I was interested enough in that to read it, and eventually
I acquired a copy. (It happened that it was given to me,
but I think I probably would have purchased one anyhow.)
In reading it, I would keep coming across these
references. She would discuss some artist — Velino Herrera
or someone like that — and say that in 1940-such-or-something
he illustrated a book for Knopf, for Viking; or that some
other artist, in the late 1930s, illustrated a book for
so-and-so, or something like that. Gradually it began to
soak in, after six or eight of these references, that
several of these artists had illustrated books. Well, I
am a book collector rather than an art collector, and things
like that would presumably be much less expensive. So I
decided again not to try to collect the original works by
these people but collect examples of their having served
as illustrators of books. So in recent years, I have
been building up a collection which numbers, I suppose,
seventy-five or eighty items--that ' s just a rough guess —
of books illustrated by American Indians.
I have drawn one line--although not always too
successfully, I guess — and that is, I'm not out after
books that reproduce Indian art: in other v/ords , not
just albums reproducing the work of an artist or of a
school or something like that. Fortunately, this saves
me a good deal of expense because some of those books
are very expensive. The collection, as it is intended,
is instances in which the artist, the Indian in this
case, was actually the illustrator of that text. In
other words, he drew pictures to fit the specific text
that illustrated that book. There are a couple that are
a little tangential, or a little borderline, but neverthe-
less that's the basis of that collection.
Incidentally, I might put in a plug and say that on
last Thursday I installed two cases of selections from that
collection at the Library of the Southwest Museum. Their
librarian, Ruth Christensen, had asked me if I would be
willing to lend some of these books for display for them
for this summer.
I have one or two — again it's a little difficult to
know whether to call it a collection or not — of writings
of friends of mine. One that is very definitely a collection.
and I think counts probably as a major collection of the
man's v/orks, is Lawrence Clark Powell. I have been fortun-
ate in that I started not too long after Pov;ell began
writing. Of course, I suppose anyone who hears or reads
a transcript of this will knov; something about him and
know how prolific he is. I started fairly early, and he has
always been very generous in giving me separates and reprints
and so forth. Of course, many of his things have come out
in the form of publications of the organizations to which
I belong. So I have a very good, I think, Powell collec-
tion, including odd bits of manuscript. For instance,
I was noticing just today in doing some filing that I
have the holograph manuscript of the tribute that Mr.
Powell paid to Mr. Wagner at Mr. Wagner's funeral. In
addition to having the final printed version and a ditto-
graphed version that Powell put out first, I also have his
holograph and then the typed draft that one of his secre-
taries made from his holograph. And I have a small collec-
tion of a librarian named Earle Walbridge, who was a friend
of mine, and also a small collection of Gerald McDonald,
another librarian whom I have mentioned.
I am very much interested in local history in South-
ern California, particularly the area where I am, and most
specifically the immediate vicinity-Pasadena, San Marino,
Alhambra, South Pasadena. I live in South Pasadena now
and have lived in Pasadena and Alhambra as well as Los
Angeles and Sierra Madre. Particularly with my work at
the Huntington Library and my interest there in the San
Marino Ranch and Lake Vineyard and the Wilsons, the Shorbs,
the Pattons, and the Huntingtons and all that, I've been
collecting along those lines. A large part of my local-
history collection is not book material but clippings
and old photographs, sometimes actual old photographs
or sometimes copies of old photographs; and ephemera of
these places, odds and ends such as timetables and maps;
so I have a fairly substantial collection of that, but
not very much is actually book material.
I've been talking tonight mainly, of course, about
books. I don't really collect manuscripts as such. Some
of my association items are manuscripts, and in some cases
I have a holograph or signed letters by the individuals that
I collect in my "Americana-ana" collection. As I've already
mentioned, [I have] some things such as the original holo-
graph or typescript manuscript of something by Henry
Wagner or Lawrence Clark Powell or some of these other
persons in whom I'm interested. But I'm not a manuscript
collector as such.
AXE: Do you have a collection on cemeteries?
CARPENTER: Oh, yes, I didn't mention that. That's another
upshot of the war. During the war, I had some responsi-
bility for checking up on the operation of a division
cemetery. I had to read the field manual on the subject
to find out how it was supposed to be done, and so I
got interested in the question and began to wonder, "Did
we go through all of this rigamarole in the Revolution
and in the Civil VJar?" By using that word, I don't mean
it unkindly about our present Grave Registration Service,
but did we do as much as we now do in these earlier wars?
So I began looking for material after I got home from
the service, and it's surprising how much material there
is. There are very few whole books on the subject, although
there are one or two, but there are many books partially.
In other words, there are such things as the published
reminiscences of a man who was a chaplain in the Spanish-
American War, who devotes, I think, a full chapter to his
conduct of burials and to field burial and so forth. I
have quite a long shelf on that subject, although, again,
not quite so much of that is hardbound books. A lot of
it is pamphlet, and some of it is magazine articles and
newspaper clippings and photographs. But, yes, there is
very definitely a collection.
Now, I have become interested in more recent times
in the history of the early cemeteries of the Los Angeles
area. I have accumulated a large number of notes and
extracts from books and a certain number of photographs
but practically nothing in the way of book or manuscript
material in that area. I have a file, certainly--if one
couldn't justify it as a collection — on that subject
AXE: How about genealogy? I know it was because of your
mother that you developed an interest in it. Did you in
any way do this for yourself?
CARPENTER: Well, at the time that I was of high school
age I was quite interested in my own genealogy, family
genealogy, and I did quite a little research, particularly
in the genealogy room at the Los Angeles Public Library.
But it has never been a collecting field in the sense of
searching out and acquiring materials. Some of it was
searching out information to enter on forms [with] which
to make notes but not really a collecting field. Now,
my mother did collect a certain number of actual literal
genealogies, published genealogies, and then quite a nice
little library, 400 volumes or so, on New England history
with sort of a genealogical slant to it.
Since her death, I have disposed of the pure genea-
logies in her collection by giving them either to the
Los Angeles Public Library or to the Southern California
Genealogical Society. But the general nongenealogical
material on New England I still have and haven't quite
decided what I ought to do with it. It's not really a
collecting area of my own.
AXE: Now, I noticed your interest in film material. Is
*From this file I later drew a small book. Early Cemeteries
of the City of Los Angeles (Los Angeles: Dawson' s Book
Shopr'1973) . [E.H.C. ]
that generated solely by your interest in Gerald McDonald's
collecting activity, because he did collect?
CARPENTER: Oh, yes, he did, very definitely. Gerald
McDonald was a close friend of mine, and he was a very
considerable authority on the early days of the motion
picture, particularly up to about 1915. I used to help
him by clipping obituaries from the Los Angeles newspapers
of film pioneers. Of course, major ones, like the Gishes
and so forth, would get into the New York papers. But
there would be here many obituaries of very minor figures,
and I used to cut these out and send them to him. I had
some interest, really, through my friendship with Gerald
McDonald and not for myself. I don't do anything actively
along that line at all. Gerald knew that this was not
my interest, and his collection in that area did not come
to me at all under his will.
AXE: You've mentioned the Eames . Did his printing collec-
tion [also] come to you?
CARPENTER: Yes, in his [McDonald's] will, apparently
it said that his things and books on printing were to
come to me. His sister, who cleared out his apartment--
with some help, I think — I think was not always sure just
what belonged where. Fortunately, partly I suppose because
it was segregated and partly because she was well enough
read and intelligent enough and observant enough to know,
she segregated the Eames material perfectly easily and the
Mauldin material perfectly easily. Truthfully, I'm not
sure about the books in printing. She certainly sent me
a great deal of material. But I know some that did not
come to me. For instance, he had a very good run of the
chapbooks and monographs of the Typophiles, and that
substantial run of them went to a college library in New
York state. One or two of the odd ones, the more recent
ones, which he perhaps had not shelved with his others,
she included in the packages that were sent to me. So in
that particular area, I'm not sure how the actual distri-
bution of his material went. Although I visited his
apartment in New York many, many times, and talked with
him a great deal, and knew pretty well what he had, I
don't know well enough just what I might or might not
have gotten; although of course, I got a good deal of
very nice things and appreciate them very much.
AXE: Did you ever collect [Noah] Webster?
CARPENTER: No. The reason that I was at the New York
Public Library for nearly five years was to edit a biblio-
graphy of Noah Webster. But I never collected Webster
for myself. I have one piece. Well, as a matter of fact,
I probably have three or four. I think somebody gave me
a couple of odds and ends of early Webster spellers at
one time or something like that, but I've made no effort
at all to collect in that line myself, except for one
Webster speller. It was the days of stereotyping, and
I believe they were stereotyped sheets from the East,
but it had its local title page and cover published in
California by one or another of the versions of the
Bancroft Publishing Company. Because that's Californiana
and because of my indirect interest in Bancroft through
my interest in Henry Wagner, I did pick that up; but I've
really not collected Noah Webster. I'm going to refrain
firmly from that. I do draw the line here and there,
AXE: While you were in New York, was Dr. Eames still
CARPENTER: No, no. Of course, I never met him. I don't
remember now just when he died, but it must have been
shortly before the war, perhaps '38, something like that.
It was long before I ever went to New York, and so I did
not know him.
Victor Paltsits was still living at the time that I
went to New York, and I was looking forward to meeting him.
He, of course, had been closely associated with Eames for
many years and Gerald McDonald--with both of them. The
first day that I went to work at the New York Public
Library, I was walking in a hallway with Gerald, or some-
one else, and he pointed out a man at a considerable dis-
tance. As you know, the New York Public Library stretches
for two blocks in one direction, so you can take a pretty
long look down on the halls. Whoever was with me said.
"That's Dr. Paltsits. We'll introduce you as soon as
there's an opportunity." Well, Paltsits died the next
day. So I went to his funeral, but I never met him. I
have one or two Paltsits association things, of course,
AXE: Tell me a little more about when you arrived in
New York to work.
CARPENTER: It must have been about September of 1953.
AXE: You weren't really working for the New York Public
Library, were you?
CARPENTER: Well, yes. I was doing one specific job, and
I was paid from one specific fund. That is where I dif-
fered, perhaps, from other employees. [The NYPL] had
been given, by Emily Ellsworth Ford Skeel, her notes and
unfinished manuscript for the bibliography of Noah Webster.
She also gave them a largish sum of money to pay for the
editing, completion, and publication of it. I was engaged
to complete it and edit it and prepare it for the press.
So I was paid from this fund that Mrs. Skeel had given.
My paycheck was the same as anyone else's. It was drawn
in the same form and everything else; there was no apparent
The nature of my work made my schedule very free as
far as coming and going went. I didn't have to punch a
time clock or put in hours at a public desk or anything
like that. But as I say, I was like any other employee
and the same general rules, the same obligations and
privileges applied. The employees were on, I think,
the New York State retirement system pension fund of
some sort or other. I was on that, and I functioned
the same as any other employee did, although the money
for my salary did come from a special fund. I had no
other duties, although once in a great while, just to
help out, I did give a hand in the rare-book department.
AXE: That's what I wondered.
CARPENTER: I was sort of attached to them for rations
and quarters. I had an office in that area of the library.
As a matter of fact, it was a room just lined with biblio-
graphies, and it was a room where several prominent biblio-
graphers had worked before. Working with me in the same
room at another desk for quite a while was Daniel Haskell,
who is a minor figure but has done quite a little work
in American bibliography. [He] was a man quite along in
years then. I think he had officially retired but he was
finishing up a couple of projects he was working on.
One time when I was away on vacation — I was away one
month one summer--they told me that during most of that
month my desk was occupied by Fredson Bowers, who was doing
some work there at the time. Yes, come to think of it,
that was Wilberforce Eames's old office. Yes, that's right.
AXE: Oh, how wonderful.
CARPENTER: It had been Eames's old office, so of course
it was just thoroughly delightful as far as I was concerned,
AXE: How long did you work there, Ed?
CARPENTER: I was there just under five years — about four
years and nine months. The bibliography wasn't published
until after I had come back to California, but it was
virtually ready. I did the last proofreading and things by
mail after I got out here.
AXE: All your materials you used in that bibliography,
were they there? Or did Mrs. Skeel have some here in
CARPENTER: No, [her] materials were all there. At the
time that I started this job, she was in a sanitarium in
California, in Las Encinas in Pasadena, but I never saw
her. I sort of wanted to, but the secretary and companion
of hers for many years--who was handling the arrangements
with the New York Public Library and indirectly with me —
didn't want me to see her. Mrs. Skeel had been, if not
famous, well known as being a very active and vigorous
and upright woman all of her life. She had, with rather
great suddenness, relapsed into being practically a vege-
table. I believe that Miss [Helen] Mouat, the woman I
mentioned, didn't want my only impression of Mrs. Skeel
[to] be this hulk lying in a bed. She would rather I
thought of her as I came to. When I went around to see
people like Lawrence C. Wroth and Clarence Brigham and
R.W.G. Vail and some of the others, they all spoke of her.
Vail, for instance, spoke about how she used to come into the
New York Historical Society in her riding habit. She would
ride in Central Park; then the groom would take the horse, and
she'd go across to do research in the library.
AXE: Oh, how interesting.
CARPENTER: She had deposited all of her notes and materials
at the library. There were several filing drawers full of
them. The New York Public Library is one of the major
collections of the printed editions of Webster in this country.
So I was able to do a great deal of work there.
However, it was necessary to do field work as well.
The next greatest collection, of course, is at Yale--Webster ' s
alma mater, as well as Henry Wagner's. I went frequently
to New Haven; and occasionally to Worcester, Massachusetts, for
the American Antiquarian Society; and also to Springfield,
Massachusetts, to the Merriam Company, because there's
some material there. Then on one occasion or another I went
to the Pennsylvania Historical Society and the Free Li-
brary of Philadelphia and several times to Washington
to the Library of Congress. I ranged as far south as Char-
lottesville and at the University of North Carolina [at]
Chapel Hill. Actually that was really a pleasure trip
and not a justifiable research trip. But I did, as I say,
make quite a few trips to these other libraries in con-
nection with doing the work on that book.
Mrs. Skeel ' s own notes were all there in New York
and still are. They were in the manuscript department.
They were put in my office for my use, and I believe
after I left they were returned to the manuscript depart-
ment — plus, of course, the files that I had generated in
AXE: Now, who were your associates or colleagues in the
New York Public [Library] besides Gerald McDonald. I
didn't quite catch the name. Mr. Haskell?
CARPENTER: Daniel Haskell.
CARPENTER: Mr. Haskell was a very short man and very
wiry; and as I say, he must have been eighty at the time
or something like that and [was] very quick in his move-
ments, sort of birdlike, and very uncommunicative. Not
that he was surly; I think it was purely shyness on his
part. Perhaps one of the reasons he became a bibliographer
was because he didn't have to mix with the public partic-
ularly. He would sit very quietly at his own desk working.
He was very polite; he'd say good morning and so forth
to me, and occasionally we'd make some remark. But really
very little was said between us. We would be working
away quietly, and periodically he would say, "Oh, damn!
Oh, damn!" That's the main thing I remember about Mr.
When I went to be interviewed for the job, this was
a rather special project, I suppose, so I was interviewed
by the director. I'm sure that most potential employees,
particularly at lower echelons, are not interviewed by
the director of the library, but I was. At that time,
that was Ralph Deals, not the anthropologist Ralph Beals,
but the librarian and bookman Ralph Beals, who unfortunately
died not too long after I took the job. I would have
liked to have gotten to know him better.
Then, for "rations and quarters," I was attached
to the rare-book department, so my closest colleagues,
perhaps, were the people in that department. The head
of it then, as he still is, was Lewis A. Stark. Gerald
McDonald, my particular friend, had been the head of
that previously before the war, but when I got there he
was in other departments. Working with Lewis Stark in
rare books were Maud Cole and Philomena Houlihan and
Herbert Cahoon. While I was in New York, Herb Cahoon
left the New York Public Library and took a job at the
Morgan Library. Those were the four people in the rare-
At that time [the rare-book department was] called —
perhaps it still is, although they may have changed — the
reserve division. It had its own catalogers, three women,
and I knew them fairly well, too. They were particularly
delighted when I came there to work because among other
things they had cataloged a good deal of printing ephemera
from California. Of course, when they'd get something
like The Press in a Hole* or something, they often had no
idea what this meant or where it was or who it was. Some-
times they would wonder: is such and such the same person
or the same thing as somebody else? So for a while after
I got to New York, they were frequently coming to me with
questions about California printers and imprints.
Karl Kup was the head of the prints division, and
he and a couple of his staff I knew and enjoyed very much.
I came to know quite well Sarah Dickson, who was the curator
of the Arents Tobacco Collection, which was a special
collection there at the library. Another special collec-
tion is the Berg Collection, and John Gordan was the
AXE: And what [sort of] collection is that?
CARPENTER: It's a collection of modern English and
American literature and is very strong in first editions,
inscribed copies, and manuscripts. It's an extremely
important collection. Two New York doctors, brothers,
formed the collection and gave it to the library. They
provided money for air conditioning the section in which
it was housed, and this was the first air-conditioned
part of that building--which is, as you know, very desirable
*This was perhaps not a good choice for an example, as
The Press in a Hole did not exist when I was in New York.
For the record, it is the imprint used by several members
of the Preparations Department of the Huntington Library
for two small items which they printed on the Library's
Albion and Pilot presses in 1968 and 1969. [E.H.C.]
in New York in the suminers, and everybody else was very
envious. The Arents Collection was air-conditioned, too.
Gradually, however, the library was able to extend and
air-condition a great deal more.
At one time I was quite popular at the library
because one of the fev/ drinking fountains on the third
floor that had iced water was in ray office, so I was sure
of a steady stream of visitors from the staff. The public
didn't know about it, but the staff did, so I had visitors
for the drinking fountain at least. But while I was there,
they moved the drinking fountain. It actually was a matter
of moving it only a couple of feet, but they moved it to
the other side of the wall into a staff lounge. The
staff lounge was air-conditioned; so, of course, that
immediately got the staff attention, and Mr. Haskell
and I were alone again.
Gerald McDonald was the chief of the Americana
division, which, of course, is a very large and impor-
tant one there. lie was also chief of genealogy and local
history. I won't try and remember or list their names
now, but there were several people on each of those
staffs that I knew and liked. Of course, I was thrown
into contact with the manuscript department, Mr. [Robert]
Hill and his staff in manuscripts. There were many others.
One person in the gifts and exchanges section of
the library that I knew quite well was C.E. [Charles Emil]
Dornbusch. I knew him by correspondence before I went
to the library, because he was actively interested in
military history, as I have been at one time or another.
I don't collect on that, but I had an interest in it.
[But] come to think of it, I have a good collection of
Dornbusch. Much of his output is bibliographies of
military history. He vv'as working on the Stars and Stripes .
As a matter of fact, he made considerable use, if I may
say so, of my collection in compiling his bibliography
of the Stars and Stripes . So I knew him by correspondence
before I came to the library, and I came to know and associate
with him a good deal at the library, but not because of his
position within the library.
AXE: By the way. Dr. Carpenter, your collection must be
mentioned in many of these books about collectors and
collecting. Is that so?
CARPENTER: No, I don't think so, that I know of. Every
once in a while, my name is mentioned in the acknowledge-
ments or the preface of a book as having given some help
someplace. But it usually is not stated, at least in
terms of my collections. It's merely that they thank
so-and-so from the Huntington Library for assistance.
My collections actually haven't been particularly used
by outsiders. My journal has, once. (I said that I didn't
think I would get going on the subject of some of the
personalities in the book world this evening, but we
seem to have gotten into some of them.)
I went to visit Edward Eberstadt in New York. I
didn't literally have a letter from Henry Wagner; but
all one had to say was that he was a friend of Kenry
Wagner's, and this, as you know, opened many doors. I
think I spent most of the day sitting at Edward Eberstadt 's
desk talking with him to the extent that we didn't even
go out to lunch. Ke had lunch brought in--some sandwiches
and cokes were brought in--so I didn't even leave his desk
during the lunch hour. I spent several hours talking with
him, and it was wonderful book talk of all sorts and a
great deal of reminiscence about Mr. Wagner and other
Californians. Now why did I get into Eberstadt in the
AXE: About your journal.
CARPENTER: Oh, yes. So I wrote in my journals some of
the things that Eberstadt had told me. Some of them had
to do with his having sold various bits of Californiana
to collectors in California at one time or another. When
Robert Hine , who is now a history professor at the Univer-
sity of California, Riverside, was working on one of his
books--I guess it was having to do with the Kern brothers —
he was interested in the Fort Sutter papers and some other
collections like that at the Huntington Library. There
was some anecdote about them that Eberstadt had told me and
which I had put into my journals. So I brought the
appropriate portion of the volume of the journal to the
Huntington Library and let Bob Hine use it. But that's
my journal and not my collections.
As I say, I don't think my collections really have
been mentioned particularly. Several years ago. Glen
Dawson wrote an article for the brand book of the Los
Angeles corral of the VJesterners, about collectors of
Western Americana. There are two things there. In the
first place, it was written enough years ago so that he
wouldn't have thought of me, I'm sure, in any case,
because I was of much lesser activity than I have become
later. In the second place, I don't know that, even if
he were writing it now, he would include me in that
particular coverage because I'm not a major collector
of Western T^ericana at all. That's not an area that
I go in for, although many of these association items
are Western Americana.
AXE: And of course the Southwest Indian, that material
doesn't come into Western Americana per se, does it?
CARPENTER: Well, yes, I suppose it does.
AXE: Well, I think probably you've been sort of shel-
tered from people who would otherwise besiege you, knowing
your wonderful collections. [laughter]
CARPENTER: Well, of course, you yourself are one that
has drawn on it to the extent of asking me to give you
the wording of some of the presentation inscriptions
that Mr. Wagner wrote in some of his works.
AXE: Oh, yes. Of course, Mr. Wagner had so many associa-
tions with bibliographers. By the way, you don't by any
chance have that letter of Medina's to Mr. Wagner, do
you, that was published, I think, in part perhaps in the
Sixty Years of Book Collecting ?
CARPENTER: Well, in any case, the answer is no, because
I have no. . . .
AXE: No, you don't. V/ritten from Chile.
CARPENTER: No, I have no Medina letters at all.
AXE: The original letter.
CARPENTER: No, I have nothing, no letters of Medina's
at all. At the time that I might have tried to pick up
some Medina association items, Maury Brompsen was forming
his Medina collection; and because of his better contacts
and his longer purse, I always lost out on that. So,
as I said, my Medina collection is pretty shaky, but
there is a little there.
AXE: Do you have any Nicolas Leon among your bibliographers?
CARPENTER: Yes, but I can't remember what book it is.
I don't think it's in one of Leon's own writings — I think
it's in another book--but it's a presentation inscription
from Leon to John B. Stetson, who was a collector of
Americana, of course, as you know, and whom Mr. Wagner
AXE: Oh, yes. Didn't you collect any old Mexican material?
CARPENTER: Oh, good grief. There's another whole collec-
tion that I forgot. [laughter] Yes, that's right. My
doctoral dissertation was on the "Instruccion reservada"
of the Viceroy segundo Conde de Revilla Gigedo. In the
course of doing that, I compiled a very extensive checklist
of the publications of his administration, which is 1789
to 1794 in Mexico City. This involves examining a good
deal of this material, I already was interested in Mexican
printing, I suppose, to an extent, but this increased my
interest. Except possibly for a coat of arms here and there,
there aren't any engravings in his publications. But some-
how I became interested in and attracted to a lot of Mexican
books of the period that had copper engravings in them,
and so I began collecting them.
I emphasize the ones that have engravings in them,
because I consider it primarily a collection of engravings.
About this same time, I had a fortunate chance of purchasing
a lot from Jake Zeitlin. Eighteenth-century Mexican
engravings are very scarce nowadays; they turn up very
seldom. Once in a great while, one will turn up. As
I said, I'm never going to be another Henry Huntington,
but at least on one occasion I did emulate Mr. Huntington's
practice of buying en bloc and was fortunately able to
acquire from Jake quite a substantial collection of eighteenth-
century Mexican engravings, which incidentally had been
formed by the anthropologist Frederick Starr.
AXE : Oh .
CARPENTER: Mr. Wagner perhaps knew Starr as well. I also
have been collecting other eighteenth-century Mexican
imprints. I certainly didn't try for sixteenth-century
imprints, because those are way beyond my reach. I have
one leaf of one, or something like that, but I haven't
really tried for them. Well, come to think of it, I
have two or three sixteenth-century broadsides, but not
books. So I concentrated on the eighteenth-century,
because of an interest in typography primarily.
There, of course, is a point at which Mr. Wagner and
I differed rather considerably because--! don't know whether
he ever said it in writing, but I think very likely he
did, and certainly [he said it] in conversation--Mr. Wagner
wasn't thrilled by an eighteenth-century book unless it
had something of interest in its content. A sermon on a
purely theological topic printed in Mexico City in the
eighteenth century thrilled him not in the slightest,
but it sort of does me. I like the physical touch of
just handling an eighteenth-century Mexican imprint or
any other eighteenth-century imprint, as far as that goes.
I just like the feel of the leather, if it is in its orig-
inal binding, and the feel of the paper and the look of the
ink and the type and everything else.
I have collected them from the point of view of the
typography and tried to get examples of the changing taste.
particularly in title page design in Mexico in the eighteenth
century, v;hich went from very elaborate to very simple in the
course of the century; and also, where I could find them,
[I've collected] printing curiosities. There v/ere some type
cast in exotic shapes for writing the Otomi language, and
there's one book on the Otomi language which has special
types cast and used in it. Then there was a book printed
for some important occasion in which some of the printing
was done in gold. Yes, that's true; I've got quite a sub-
stantial collection of eighteenth-century and a few early
nineteenth-century, if it's still within the colonial period,
Mexican books and Mexican engravings--and one or two manus-
cripts in that area, but again, as I say, I'm not really
AXE: Do you collect book dealers' catalogs per se?
CARPENTER: Well, no, I wouldn't say that. I accumulate
them, certainly, and I've got fairly substantial runs. In
most cases, I haven't tried to be back of the time that
I may have begun receiving them myself, although in one
case I have, and that's Dawson's. I have over the years
picked up a fairly good representation of earlier years
of the catalogs of Dawson's Bookshop here in Los Angeles.
I have a quite good run of Goodspeed's, although not going
back to the earlier years of Goodspeed's but for the last
thirty years or so, I suppose. There are several others
of which I have very substantial files. I have given
particular attention to the California booksellers and
have tried to be as complete as I can be on some of the
ones particularly that have begun in my time, like Bennett
and Marshall, and Jack Reynolds, and John Swingle, and
some of those. Then I have — of course, the firm is older
than my time--a fair selection of those of the firm of
John Howell that's nov; run by Warren Howell in San Francisco,
But that's really not a collection in the positive sense;
it's just an accumulation.
AXE: Well I should have brought this up before, but
what about Mr. [Robert E.] Cowan? Have you been collec-
ting his materials?
CARPENTER: I haven't collected Cowan as an individual
the way I have Wagner or Harrisse or Icazbalceta or
Eames. Actually I've got a fair sprinkling of Mr. Cowan's
materials. I have two or three association copies, works
of his that he has presented to different people, and a
couple of works that were presented to him by his employer,
William Andrews Clark--who, of course, was a prominent
collector, too, although not really of Americana. And
then [I have] some of his writings, for instance, a couple
of his things that were printed by Ward Ritchie. I have
those in my Ritchie imprints and things. So I've got a
decent holding of Cowan, but I've not chased after the
more elusive ones or tried to get everything, by any
AXE: I'm sure you have a marvelous collection. I can't
think of any more that you could possibly have, but I'm
sure you did.
CARPENTER: Well, yes, if I'd think about it, there's
probably something more around the place.
MAY 28, 19 7 2
CARPENTER: VJhen there was discussion of my giving an
interview for the UCLA Oral History [Program] , I think
I said that there was really only one subject on which
I had some knowledge not shared by anyone else which
perhaps would be desirable in the archives at UCLA. That
has to do with the founding of the UCLA Anthropological
Society in 19 36. I was the one who started it and kept it
going for some little time, until I went into the service.
Since the matter was first broached, I have dug out
the files I have on the subject. They are not perfectly
complete, but fortunately I did keep a fairly good record
of the activities of the group for the first four years
or so. Of course, obviously these should be part of the
UCLA Archives. I shall definitely turn them over to the
UCLA Archives sooner or later. Since I do have a feeling
I'd like to hang onto them a while, perhaps I might let
the archives have xeroxes of some of the more important
pieces and also one or two photographs.
I find I have a sheet of notes, partly in my hand-
writing and partly in that of Dr. Clinton N. Howard, who
was in the history department at that time — I believe [he]
is now emeritus. Unfortunately they are not dated, but it
must have been the fall of 1936.
Before I get into the society matters, I might just
say a word--although this certainly can be better told
by others than me — about the beginning of instruction in
anthropology at UCLA. When I entered UCLA as a junior in
September of 1934, there was no instruction in anthropology.
It must have been the fall of 1935, or perhaps even as late
as the fall of 1936, when anthropology v;as offered. For
some time, of course, the department consisted only of one
man, Dr. Ralph L. Beals, who did a very important job in
starting the instruction at the university and building
up what came to be a very large and significant department.
The second faculty member in the department was Dr. Harry
Hoijer, who. came to UCLA from the University of Chicago —
a linguist, one of Edward Sapir's students. (I'll have a
little occasion, I think, to refer to him as we go on.)
I might also just say, to get this out of the way
before getting into the actual group, that there were
several students who took the courses Dr. Beals offered
and became very much interested in anthropology. I had
considerable degree of interest myself, but by that time
I was firmly committed. I already was majoring in two
other subjects and was thoroughly committed to my work
in English and more specifically history. It didn't
seem suitable for me to do more than take an occasional
course. But several students, not as far along as I,
became very much interested and wanted to major in anthro-
pology. v:ith only one professor, of course, it was not
possible to offer a major; so several of the people who
I'm going to mention — such as Bert Gerow; and Ed Schaeffer;
Tamie Tsuchiyama, a Nisei girl; and Saul Reisenberg; and
perhaps one or tv;o others--actually transferred from UCLA
to Berkeley to be able to major in anthropology. Some of
them I know continued in that field. I understand Bert
Gerow is an anthropology professor at Stanford now.
Nell, as I say, the notes that I took when talking
with Dr. Howard are not dated, but it must have been in
the fall semester of 1936, because it was in November of
'36 that the group actually organized. I don't remember
now what gave me the idea. I don't remember whether Dr.
Heals had mentioned this point to me before or not; it
certainly came up fairly soon. That is that he was glad
to have such a group, which could serve as an agency by
which he could invite visiting scholars or people who
were passing through the area to speak at the university —
either privately or to the university public. I'm not
now sure whether that was one of the purposes before the
group was formed or whether that developed as the group
I think I may also say that it was Dr. Howard who was
the midwife of the whole thing. I don't know how I happened
to talk it over with him, but I did, quite extensively.
For some reason or other, I don't believe he ever attended
a meeting, but he did serve to precipitate the matter
and get me to go ahead with what I was talking about in
a general way and actually to go ahead and do something,
although, when it came down to producing something, I don't
believe he actually ever attended. But he certainly is
the man who precipitated my doing something about it.
I find from my notes that our first meeting was
November 6, 1936. There were eight people present: four
students, three faculty members, and one faculty wife.
I wouldn't guess now as to the proportions, but it was
true, certainly, as the organization grew a little, that
it was a pretty good mixture of faculty and students.
In the course of time, [it] came to have quite a few
members who were off-campus people, people not connected
with the university at all. In those days, it was quite
acceptable for campus organizations to have outside members,
and I'll mention some of them, perhaps, as we go along.
Those that were present--Dr. [George M.] McBride in the
geography department; Dr. [Hallock F.] Raup, also in the
geography department, and Mrs. Raup (it was held at their
home, incidentally); [and] Miss Annita Delano in the art
department. (Although most people are inclined to pronounce
the name Delano, I recall that she very definitely preferred
the pronunciation Delano.) The students were Curtis Cooper,
John Quick, Joe Trainer, and me.
The second meeting, which was held a week later at
Curtis Cooper's apartment, there were the sane ones, except
for Dr. McBride and four more. I find a list in my hand-
writing--it must have been written about the time--listing
the charter members, v;hich were fourteen (after about the
third or fourth meeting, we consolidated those who had
been attending regularly) ; and in alphabetical order they
are: Dr. Beals, who I see for some reason v.'as not present
at the first meeting or two, although certainly he must
have been informed about this and it must have met with
his approval; myself; Curtis Cooper; Annita Delano; Bert
Gerow, to whom I've already made reference; Emmett Alwin
Greenwalt (I give both his first names because he was
sometimes called Al , which is taken from his middle name),
[who] later finished a PhD under John Caughey in history
and is now a professor at Cal State Los Angeles; Dr. Howard,
I see, is counted as an charter member, although as I say,
I don't recall that he ever attended; Elizabeth Kelsey —
I must admit I don't particularly remember her--was a
student, I believe; Edward Leggewie, another student;
John Quick; Dr. Raup; Ed Schaeffer; Joe Trainer; and
another student from history, Dent Wilcoxson. So those
fourteen count as the charter members, according to the
notes that I made at the time. A little bit later, I'll
mention some of the others who came in soon and figured
prominently in the group.
I see by my notes that at that time we were meeting
as often as once a week, because we met on November 6,
13, and 20, and December 4 and 9. Then, of course, there
were some holidays. We met only once in January in 19 37,
twice in February, twice in March, once in April, twice in
May. So we settled down to about every couple of weeks;
and perhaps a little later--I haven't checked— [it] may
not have been quite that frequent.
Our first half-dozen meetings had no program; [they]
were devoted entirely to planning and organizing. The
first program that we had was February 26, 1937, when we
met at the home of Dr. Caughey [of] the history department.
I suppose it was Dr. Beals who arranged this. [He] had
films of the Rainbow Bridge-Monument Valley archaeological
expedition with which he had some connection. It was along
about then, at an earlier meeting, January 8, 1937, that
we adopted a constitution and bylaws, to which I'm sure
we never referred again. But in order to have recognition
as a campus organization, it was necessary to have such a
document on file.
I don't think I'll try and go through the meetings,
certainly not one by one. The first few programs after
the preliminary meetings were mostly drawing on our own
members — on Dr. Beals, Dr. Raup, Miss Delano, Dr. McBride,
Dr. George Brainerd, who was working with the anthropology
department at that time, although not as an instructor.
I guess the first off-campus speaker we had was in March,
1938: Mr. Arthur Woodward of the Los Angeles County
Gradually we went outside. In Ifovember, 1938, at
a meeting at my home, for instance, M.R. Harrington,
the archaeologist from the Southwest Museum, spoke. In
January, 1939, we had a meeting at which a man named
Imandt, who had been a photographer for Vogue , showed
movies that he had made in Bali, which were very good.
Unfortunately, in those days it was not possible for
private individuals to have sound movies; but, except for
the lack of sound, they were quite good, as I remember.
In February of 1939, we had another speaker who
became a very active member of the group and whom we
enjoyed very much. This was Mr. Ross Montgomery. He was an
architect in Los Angeles and had rather specialized in the
Spanish and the mission style [s]. He had had a hand in the
restoration of the Santa Barbara Mission after the earth-
quake in 1926, I think. Later, because of his knowledge of
ecclesiastical architecture and knowing what features to ex-
pect at what points in a building, [he] was called into
consultation at the Harvard excavations at Awatobi in New
Mexico, where they were uncovering the seventeenth-century,
I guess it was, mission church. He spoke to us on various
occasions and became quite a faithful attendant.
Another speaker in the early days — I think it was
April, 1938 — was Bert Gerow's father, whose first name
I don't remember. He was an artist of some sort or other
and gave us a very interesting talk (as a matter of fact,
we later had him repeat it) on the cire perdue method of
casting statuary--which, certainly, I know many of us enjoyed,
Another person who gave us a program and who also was
a member — who at that time was not connected with UCLA,
although he later was very much so--v.'as Kenneth Macgowan.
Someone brought Mr. and Mrs. Macgowan to one of the early
meetings, and they asked if they could join, and we made
them welcome. I knew very little about them, except that
they were obviously people of means v/ho lived in Bel-Air
and he said that he collected masks. Eventually an arrange-
ment was made to hold a meeting at their home at which
he would show and speak about his collection of masks.
In order to say something about him in introducing him,
I looked him up and was very surprised to find out how
important a person he was at that time in the motion
pictures and what an important position he had had pre-
viously in theatrical history in the United States in his
earlier connection with the Provincetown Players and with
the beginnings of Theatre Arts Monthly and things of that
nature. We had certainly a very fine meeting at the
Macgowans , at which he gave us an excellent talk on the
many magnificent masks which he had collected from all
over the world.
Another speaker in the early days was Dr. Morris
Opler, who if I remember was at the Claremont Colleges
at that time, an authority on the Apache. He spoke to
us at least once and I think, perhaps, more often. I've
already mentioned Dr. Harry Hoijer as the second member
of the department at UCLA. Well, before he was a member
of the department, when he was still at the University of
Chicago, he paid a visit to Southern California; and, at
a meeting which was held at my home, he spoke on some
aspect of Navajo linguistics. I don't recall in too
much detail, except I do remember very stimulating readings
he gave from Navajo poetry. We did not know it at the
time — Dr. Beals did, but the rest of us did not know — that
the reason he was visiting here was that he was being
interviewed for a job at UCLA. Soon after that, he left
Chicago and came to UCLA. I don't think there's much
point in talking further about the early meetings.
AXE: Were there any officers?
CARPENTER: Yes. I was just going to speak about that.
I think it's quite possible that previous to this date
there had been really no officers and that it had just
consisted of my doing the whole thing. But I see that
on May 7 of 1937, we had what was called a council meeting.
(My minutes say that the council was formed at that time.)
The members who were present at the meeting — and, I take
it, were the initial members of the council--were Dr.
Beals, Dr. Raup, Miss Delano, Edward Leggewie, Bert Gerow,
Ed Schaeffer, John Quick, and me. And I see that at a
meeting of the council on May 28, we had an election
at which I became president. Dr. Beals was the faculty
vice-president; the student vice-president was one whom
I haven't mentioned before, not in from the very beginning
apparently. Jack Anderson. Bert Gerow was the secretary,
and Curtis Cooper was the treasurer. I have minutes for
a few meetings of the council, but I don't know just how
long that functioned. Of course, obviously, this was not
a very large and important group, and it v/as pretty much
run by me doing all the dirty work, frankly, doing all
AXE: Did you arrange the programs?
CARPENTER: Yes, I arranged the programs. Often Dr.
Beals would suggest them. In other words, he would say
to me that there's a possibility of getting so-and-so,
or so-and-so's going to be in town, or something like that.
Actually, in the first year or two, we didn't have as many
speakers from outside as we did later.
There was one other little feature that I want to
mention, too, and that is we fell into the habit of having
fairly frequent dinners. I won't say dinner meetings,
because usually there was no program with them. They
were just a dinner to get together for enjoyment. The
first one of which I have any record was June 7, 19 37,
when about eighteen of us had dinner at the Dragon's Den,
a Chinese restaurant at the corner of Los Angeles and
Marchessault Streets--of course, long since gone in the
relandscaping of the plaza area. Although I have a list
of those that were there, I won't mention them particularly.
I might say as a point of historic interest that the dinner
cost us sixty cents a head. Later, on more than one occas-
sion — for instance June 15, 1937--we had a Japanese dinner
which Tamie Tsuchiyama prepared for us herself at the
Beals's home. We did this on more than one occasion
and always enjoyed those very much. There was a period
in there, in '37-'38, when we had fairly frequent dinners.
I remember we went to an Italian restaurant on La Brea
named Tarino's two or three times, and we also went,
certainly more than once, to a Mexican restaurant, I
believe it was on Washington, named Tepeyac.
AXE: These dinners were very well attended, weren't they?
CARPENTER: Yes, they were. They were pleasant, and we
had good dinners; that is, the meals were good, and it was
nice company. I suppose in those days there weren't so
many demands on one's time. There wasn't the TV to watch.
And, of course, these were still somewhat Depression days,
times when people weren't spending as much on entertain-
ment; so to go out to a moderately priced dinner like this
once in a while was rather a pleasure.
I want to make reference to some of the people who
came in not right at the first, but who were quite active
in the group during the time that I was active in it
myself. I've already mentioned Kenneth Macgowan and his
wife, who were charming people and whom we enjoyed very
much, and also Ross Montgomery and his wife. Another one
who was in fairly early was Dr. Sarah Atsatt from the faculty.
She was a herpetologist; I guess her department was probably
zoology. [She was] a charming woman. We met several times
at her apartment, which was near the campus. Another faculty
member was Martin Huberty (and his wife, also) ; he taught
agriculture. We had a couple of interesting programs at
his home that I recall.
Among students, there was one named Roger Nedry,
who now teaches, I believe, anthropology at Rio Hondo
College. [There was] a man, who I'm quite sure was a
student though he was quite a little older than the rest of
us, of Hispanic background. Although he was not a
Filipino, he may have come from the Philippine Islands;
I'm not sure. But his name was Santiago A. Santiago, and
[he] seemed very interested, a very nice person. I re-
member on at least one occasion, when it seemed partic-
ularly appropriate, we met at the adobe which Mark
Harrington and his wife had restored in San Fernando.
Santiago's son came along and played guitar for us. This
was in the days before every young person played a guitar.
It was not common, as it is now, to have young guitarists
around, and we certainly had a very enjoyable evening
I realize that in speaking of each person I've said
they were nice, and speaking of each occasion I've said
that it was enjoyable; but I think that that is true.
It was a nice group of individuals; practically every
one was a person pleasant to associate with; and many
of them [were] knowledgeable in different fields of
anthropology or closely related to it. And most of the
occasions we. had were very good, too.
I might say that on one of the visits — there were
two, at least — to the Harrington adobe, the member who
was supposed to bring the Mexican refreshments, pan dulce
and hot chocolate, failed to show up; so we had to get
along without refreshments. That was probably the only
serious blemish in our records of meetings.
I think perhaps that's about all that I have to say
on the group. I see by my files that I dug up that the
meetings went on at least until May of 1941. The meeting
on that occasion was held at Dr. Atsatt's home, and Arthur
Woodward of the Los Angeles Museum spoke on pottery tech-
niques of Mexico. It was a couple of months after that
that I went into the service, and that was the end of my
association with the group.
I came back to UCLA in fall of 1946, full time in
'47; and I think I occasionally attended a meeting after
that. But by that time, of course, the department had
grown to many other people, and the students were different,
and I had no particular part in the conduct of the organi-
zation after the Second World War. As a matter of fact--
I should have checked up, but I didn't— I'm not even sure
whether it still is in existence or not. It was, I know,
in about 1947 or so, but whether it still is or not I
don't know. [tape recorder stopped]
We cut off at that point, but I come back on for
a moment to say that Mrs. Axe asked me about the nature
of the meeting notices, whether they were printed and
so forth. The first few, I'm sure, were probably only
word of mouth, because [with] that small number of persons,
all of whom I saw practically every day at the university,
it was easy enough to speak personally or perhaps leave
a note in the mailbox for them or something like that.
Then I must have gotten to using handwritten postcards.
But before very long, I see from the files here, I was
using mimeographed postcards; so for most of the time
after we were well organized and under way, the notice
was in the form of a mimeographed postcard.
I thought of two further points that I wanted to
make, one of which is rather important, at least in rela-
tion to the group and its activities on the campus. As
I have indicated, the meetings were usually held at member^ '
homes or occasionally at a museum or something like that in
another part of the city. But on occasions when there was
a possibility of a speaker from some other part of the
country, we often arranged [campus] daytime meetings. Most
of the meetings were evenings, but we would arrange a
daytime meeting in a room on the university campus and
try to have announcements put in the Bruin --and even, in
some cases, on general bulletin boards--and invite the
whole university audience, as it were. VJe did have some
meetings at which there were outside speakers which were
quite well attended.
Probably from the point of view of the university as
a whole, the most significant thing that we did [was] from
October 17 to 29, 1938, [when] we mounted in the fine arts
gallery in the education building--at the time the art
department was in the education building — an exhibit of
Pueblo Indian culture. [This exhibit] included pottery
and stonework and jewelry and rugs and also pictures of
pottery which were plates from a portfolio of Kenneth
Chapman. [It was made up] mostly from loans, I think,
from members. I remember that Annita Delano borrowed
several of the nice rugs for us from the collection of
Dr. Dorothea Moore. She was the wife of Ernest Carroll
Moore, the university provost, but [she] had been pre-
viously a wife of Charles F. Lummis and, through that
connection, had many fine Southwest Indian things.
That exhibit was, I believe, very well attended.
Some of the art faculty [made] class assignments of
doing something with a Pueblo design or something like
that. Fortunately I have quite a few pictures that were
taken then which I will deposit in the University Archives
sooner or later. That exhibit in October of 1938 was
probably the most tangible thing that the Anthropological
Society did for the university as a whole. [tape recorder
In addition to the photograph in my file, I find a
poster which was printed by the university press and
posted all over the campus for the exhibition. I also
find clippings. Of course, it's not surprising that it
was reviewed in the Daily Bruin , the campus paper, but
I see here that there is more than half-a-column review
in the Los Angeles Times by Arthur Millier.
AXE: Under what date?
CARPENTER: Let's see, that's the Times ; the date of the
paper is October 23, 1938. So as I say, I think that
was a worthwhile project and one which perhaps left a
small impact in the university community.
Abbey Book Shop
"Al bello secso" (poem)
American Antiquarian Society
Amsterdam, the Netherlands
Anderson, Ritchie and Simon
Argonaut Book Shop
Awatobi, New Mexico
Bancroft, Hubert Howe
Bancroft Publishing Company
Beals, Ralph (librarian)
Beals, Ralph L. (anthropologist)
Bennett and Marshall
Bentley, Wilder, Jr.
Bevis, Leura Dorothy
Biltmore Hotel, Los Angeles
Bjork, David K.
1, 6, 8, 10
1, 8, 10, 11
119, 121, 138, 152
Bolton, Herbert E.
Bou Helal, Larbi
Bou Helal, Taibi
British Museum, London
Brown, John Carter
Brydone ' s Travels (book)
71, 75, 77
102, 105, 107, 108
California Historical Society
California State University,
California State University,
Camp Kilmer, New Jersey
Camp Top Hat, Antwerp
Cape Miseno, Italy
Carpenter, Cora Francis
Chase, Nan (Mrs. Peter)
Cite Universitaire, Paris
Maison des Etats-unis
William L. Honnold Memorial
Clark, William Andrews
Clark, William Andrews, Memorial
Clary, William W.
Cleland, Robert G.
9-10, 89, 112, 117
, 121-122, 133, 140,
-150, 152-153, 220-
23, 37-38, 159
Cole, George Watson
College de France, Paris
Conquest of Mexico (Prescott)
Cowan, Robert E.
Daily Bruin , UCLA (newspaper)
Dar el Maghzen, Rabat, Morocco
Dawson's Book Shop
De la Guerra papers
Dornbusch, Charles Emil
Dougan, Robert 0.
Dragon's Den, Los Angeles
Dunkirk, Battle of
4, 5, 13
Early Cemeteries of the City of
Los Angeles (Carpenter)
Ecole du Louvre, Paris
Eisenhower, Dwight D.
173, 196, 198, 200,
Fast Company (Page)
Le Petit Pierre
Free Library of Philac3elphia
Friencis of the Huntington Library
Fry, Sara B.
Garmisch Partenkirchen, Germany
2-3, 6, 24
28, 220, 224-:
43, 150, 155,
Goddard, William B.
45-47, 48, 49-
Goodspeed, Edgar J.
Curse in the Colophon
Goodspeed 's Bookshop, Boston
Goricum, the Netherlands
Grabhorn, Edwin E,
171, 174, 178-
Greenwalt, Emmett Alwin
Guide Bleu, Le (book)
80, 82, 89
66-72, 74, 77,
84, 88, 90-92
Harding, George L.
Harrington, Mark R.
Harrington, Mrs. Mark R.
Hassan's Tower, Rabat, Morocco
Hispanic - American Historical
Historical Society of Southern
Hodge, Frederick Webb
Horn, Andrew H.
Hotel Jour Hassan, Rabat,
Howard, Clinton N.
Huberty, Mrs. Martin
Huntington, Henry E.
Huntington, Henry E., Library,
Fort Sutter Papers
Letters in Manuscript
Poems in Manuscript
Huntington Library Quarterly
Hussey, Roland D.
20, 21, 26, 29, 30, 34,
36, 38-44, 61, 92, 118,
155, 156-157, 170,
Icazbalceta, Joaquin Garcia
International Book Fair, Britain
lolanthe (Gilbert and Sullivan)
Irvine Ranch, California
Jones, Henry Arthur
Kirby, Geraldine (Mrs
Benjamin F. )
Kloster Ettal, Germany
Koontz, Louis K.
Lake Vineyard, California
Leiden, the Netherlands
Leidesdorff, William A.
Library of Congress, Washington, D.C,
Lockey, Joseph B.
Los Angeles City College
Los Angeles County Museum of
Los Angeles Public Library
Los Angeles State College
see California State University,
Los Angeles Times (newspaper)
Lummis, Charles F.
Lyautey, Louis H.G.
McBride, George M.
Macgowan, Mrs. Kenneth
Maggs Brothers, London
Medina, Jose Toribio
61, 64-66, 79, 114, 158,
167, 173, 192, 196-197,
198, 203-204, 206
161, 167, 210
Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York
Montgomery, Mrs. Ross
Moore, Dorothea (Mrs. Ernest C.)
Moore, Ernest Carroll
Morgan, Pierpont, Library, New
Mount Vesuvius, Naples, Italy
Museum of Antiquities, Rabat,
121, 138, 152
National Library of Morocco, Rabat
New York, New York
New Yorker, The (magazine)
New York Historical Society
New York Public Library
Arents Tobacco Collection
44, 47-53, 55
65, 115, 198-199, 206
44, 64-65, 157-158, 167,
170, 197-199, 201-204
10, 12, 26, 27, 28, 30
O'Sullivan, St. John
99, 102-104, 107, 108
38, 56, 94, 95, 96, 97, 99
Partridge, Marion Parks
Patton, George S., Jr.
Peabody Museum, Cambridge,
Pennsylvania Historical Society
Port Lyautey, Morocco
Powell, Lawrence Clark
Press in a Hole, The
Purisima Concepcion Mission
59, 70, 90-91,
102, 106, 111,
Rabat, French Morocco
Raup, Hal lock F.
Raup, Mrs. Hallock F.
Rainbow Bridge National Monument
Raymond Hill, Pasadena
Raymond Hotel, Pasadena
Residency, Rabat, Morocco
Residenz, Wiirzburg, Germany
Revilla Gigedo, Juan Vicente de
Giiemes y Pacheco de Padilla,
Rio Hondo College
61, 67-68, 71, 74,
77-80, 82, 84-86, 88,
162, 171, 214
Rorimer, James J.
Rounce and Coffin Club,
Roxburghe Club, San Francisco
3, 4, 9, 10, 12, 13, 14
St. Omer, France
Salmon, E. Dwight
San Francisco Chronicle
San Francisco State College
see California State University,
San Gabriel Mission
San Juan Capistrano Mission
San Luis Rey Mission
San Marino Ranch
Santa Barbara Mission
Santiago, Santiago A.
Schad, Robert O.
Schloss Klessheim, Austria
Schloss Marienberg, Wiirzburg
Shea, John Gilmary
Sierra Madre, California
Skeel, Emily Ellsworth Ford
Southern California Genealogical
Southwest Museum, Los Angeles
Spaulding, Mrs. Keith
Stark, Lewis A.
2, 3, 6, 30
218, 220, 225
2, 6, 10
89, 90, 182, 222
stars and Stripes (newspaper)
Stetson, John B.
Streeter, Thomas W.
Tanner, Clara Lee
Temple, Thomas Workman, II
Theatre Arts Monthly (periodical)
Tiepolo, Giovanni Battista
University Club, Los Angeles
University of California, Berkeley
School of Librarianship
University of California, Los
Department of Anthropology
Oral History Program
University of California,
University of Chicago
University of Michigan
School of Library Science
University of North Carolina
University of Paris
Musee de 1 ' Homme
University of Southern California
School of Library Science
Counter Intelligence Corps (CIC)
28, 30, 178
152, 155, 157
99, 102, 104-106
U.S. Army [cont'd]
Mediterranean Theater of
Fine Arts Section
6,871st Student Detachment
Supreme Headquarters, Allied
Information and Education
Third Infantry Division
Third Signal Company
U.S. Department of State
U.S. Military Academy
58, 97, 113
45, 96, 126-127, 131
97, 114, 128, 131, 174,
Villa Knafou, Casablanca,
Wagner, Henry R.
Sixty Years of Book
Warren, Harris G.
Los Angeles corral
Wheat, Carl I.
16, 29, 32, 37, 40, 121-
122, 124, 146, 148-149,
153, 162, 166, 171, 180,
182-183, 192, 198, 202,
208, 210, 212, 214
157, 197-199, 202
21, 22, 24
29, 31, 209
Wilson, Harry Leon
Wroth, Lawrence C.
67, 69, 71, 74-75, 84
Zamorano Club, Los Angeles
13, 18-21, 29, 178, 184
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